Coffee house
by Kuri333
Summary: They all look like normal people getting their morning dose of coffee. Until somebody turns out to be different, and then much more so. Modern AU, Anna/Bates
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This idea has been sitting on my laptop for too long. This chapter is shamefully short, sorry about that. The next one, much longer, will be up in no time. I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Anna, Mr Bates or any other character that might appear in the future.**

* * *

 _It's sunny, but still cold. Last night's rain has managed to give everything a clean air, and she enjoys the green on the leaves of the tree right in front of her window._

 _Anna is not a morning person, but today she is glad to be woken up early by the sounds of scarce birds and morning commuters._

 _She stretches, and looks at her image in the mirror of her wardrobe. Last night her eyes looked puffy and tired, she is glad there is nothing of that today. She is glad she will look her very best._

 _The tiles of the kitchen floor are cold under her bare feet. She enjoys even that. Taking her time, she takes the bag of freshly grounded coffee and opens it. The scent is enough to lift her spirits, but she wants more._

 _Even though friends have advised against it, she brews herself a large cup._

 _Some mornings, coffee is a need. Today she doesn't really need to be fueled up. It's a matter of custom, tradition even. There is a lot of meaning on that cup of coffee and she closes her eyes, takes in the scent completely and sips._

 _And then she moans softly, satisfied._


	2. Chapter 2

He sits on his favourite armchair, glad that it is unoccupied this time, and opens his book with a satisfied sigh, his pot of coffee on the table at arm's reach.

For a moment he just stares at the page in front of him, without taking in the meaning. The soft jazz is soothing; after the rush hour before nine am, the place is almost empty, and even the noises of the coffee machine seem to add to the peace and quiet of the moment.

With another content sigh, he starts reading.

Somebody opens the door, but he doesn't pay attention. Not until he hears that dreaded sound.

"Ta-taa… 'uffin, Mum! Nom!"

He ventures a look at the counter. A kid. A toddler. A small one at that. He is pulling the hand of a woman who looks rather flustered, while trying to stop the boy from reaching the glass bottles on the lower counter - who on earth would think it's a good idea to put glass bottles where a kid could reach them? - while taking out her wallet and preventing her bag from falling off her shoulder.

His third sigh is not in satisfaction: it is more of an impatient grunt.

He can hear the kid making noises in what he supposed was his own language. He is not exactly yelling, but it is distracting nonetheless. Maybe they will just grab something to go. Yes. That is the more likely scenario, he decides, as he resumes his reading.

Only, he is mistaken.

The kid has stopped trying to talk, and has taken to run around the tables instead. He looks at the mother in exasperation. Her back to him, she is watching her offspring, not doing a thing to stop the proceedings, while waiting for something or other at the counter.

Finally the barista passes her a muffin on plate. On a plate, not a bag. Meaning they are staying.

He just shakes his head, trying his best to concentrate on his book again, while wishing for the food to keep the kid quiet.

It does, fortunately, and he even manages to forget they are there. When he looks up again, sometime later, kid and mother are no-where to be seen.

Two days later he is on the same café, sitting on "his" armchair, the toddler forgotten. That is until the door is opened rather harshly and the small bells over it jump alive.

"'uffin, 'uffin, 'uffin!" The kid is pulling at her mum's hand again, pointing at the muffins on display. He has heard sugar cause kids to become much more active than normal, and questions the fact that the mother doesn't seem to care. Again, as she waits for her order, the kid runs around the tables.

He looks at his book and decides he just needs to focus on it. Only, the small steps have stopped and he feels he is being watched. Not very sure if it is a good idea, he tears his eyes from the page. The boy is standing in front of him, smiling widely. He feel a sudden and rather inexplicable wave of panic, where is his mother?

"Sorry," he hears her voice and looks up. It is a young woman, rather good-looking, smiling at him apologetically. He smiles back but maybe she doesn't see it; she has taken the kid's hand and is heading to the counter to retrieve the muffin and a cup of coffee.

On Friday he is hoping the toddler and the mum won't make a habit out of coming to "his" café. There is a reason why these places are supposed to be peaceful, for people to concentrate and relax on them, and that has nothing to do with letting boys on the run.

This time they are early, though. He hears the violent opening of the door as he is waiting in line to be served. The kid's steps are unmistakable, too.

"Coffee of the day and an orange muffin, please," she says, and with the corner of his eye he looks at her. This time she takes the kid on her arms, although he looks heavy, while rummaging inside her bag for her money.

"Name?"

"Anna."

She smiles at the barista, who smartly smiles back and waves at the kid, after writing her name on the paper cup. He is slightly annoyed that the staff seems to enjoy the presence of the toddler.

"John?" Another barista calls. He takes his pot with a 'thanks' and heads to a table, now definitely annoyed at the fact that somebody is sitting on "his" armchair.

He has just opened his book when he feels it again. The little boy is standing in front of him, chewing.

John raises his eyebrows. The kid smiles. And then he frowns. "There!" he says, pointing at "his" armchair. John isn't sure he understands. "There!" The boy repeats.

"Ah! Yes!" He smiles, despite of himself, and lowers his voice. "Yes, that's my chair." The kid laughs and nods. "Not today, though."

A hand takes the boy's outstretched one. "Come on, Jonah. Leave this poor man alone." He looks at her and she grins. "Sorry about that."

"Not a problem," he says, distracted by her eyes, and confirming that she has a nice half-smile.

She accommodates the kid on a high chair and resumes feeding him, chatting softly with him. John is suddenly aware he is staring, and he hastily looks at his book. He can't help it, though, and every ten seconds or so, he glances at them.

At some point she helps him to the floor again, and the toddler resumes his favourite occupation of running around the place. This time he doesn't look at him, but at his mum. She is taking a sip of her coffee, her eyes almost close, a little smile on her lips. He imagines he hears her sigh in content. Less than a second later, though, the charm is broken. Her eyes snap open and she is just on time to grab her son's hand before he takes one of the glass bottles.

"Let's go, little fellow," she mumbles, and they are out.

* * *

Today is just one of those days. There is a mountain of things that need to be done and today, of all days, is when Jonah decides to throw milk over his freshly laundered t-shirt. She shouldn't complain much, of course, but she rather likes to have some order in her life. Even though the state of their flat seems to indicate the contrary.

"Nom! Nom! Nom!" It's muffin time and Jonah, sitting on his chair in the back of the car, reminds her of that.

She parks as close as the café as possible and a moment later, she and Jonah are walking inside. The barista smiles at them, by now he recognises them and Anna guesses there are not many toddlers amongst the habitués.

"Coffee of the day and an orange muffin, please."

"Sure. Anna, right?"

"That's right," she smiles, but is instantly distracted by Jonah, tripping and falling on the wooden floor. Fortunately he stands up and resumes his running around the tables. Anna checks their surroundings to see if somebody is really disturbed at this, and her eyes are met by those of the man in the armchair. She has seen him before, his nose always buried in a book. She smiles at him and he nods, a small grin on the corner of his lips.

"Here's your muffin," the barista says, "your coffee is going to take three minutes."

"S'ok," she says, taking the plate. "Jonah, come on. Nom!"

He runs towards her, smiling, and she manages to put a piece of muffin into his mouth. Today he seems to be more excited than his usual self.

She takes a look at the screen of her phone until a terrible sound makes her look up at once. Jonah is running at her, coughing violently. As she realises he is going to be sick right in front of her, she notices there is only one napkin on the table. Hastily she tries to hold as much of it as she cans; after a year and a half of being a mother she's past the point of feeling disgusted by something like this. She just doesn't want to give the staff more extra work.

"Here."

She turns around and is genuinely surprised to see the man from the armchair standing in front of her, a bunch of napkins on his outstretched hand.

"Oh! Thanks!" She says, while holding Jonah's sick on her bare hand. She notices the man is making a point not to look at it. Who can blame him, really? With her free hand she takes the bunch and tries her best to clean around, before heading to the restrooms, pulling Jonah with her.

When she is out, he is back on the armchair, and she doubts for a moment before interrupting.

"Thanks," she says again, wanting for him to understand how much did that little gesture mean to her.

"No problem," he smiles. "Is he all right?"

"Yeah." Jonah is looking at the man's book with curiosity. Anna decides it's time to leave, before something else happens.

Hastily, she takes the rest of the muffin with the last napkin and heads to the exit. She has barely walked two paces when she hears the door open behind her.

"Anna?" She turns around. The man of the armchair is there, holding a cup with her name written on it. "You forgot your coffee."

"Oh!" She feels hot in the face. "Right. Thank you."

"No problem." He waves at Jonah and the kid waves back. She wants to say something else, but the man has turned around and is heading back to the armchair.

* * *

They didn't come to the coffee house on Friday, and he is embarrassed to admit he has looked at the door almost every time the little bells sounded. He knows it's ridiculous and nothing can come of it, but he did it nonetheless. On Monday, while walking down the street book in hand, he wonders if he would see her- them, if he would see them again today or if they have disappeared for good. This last thought suddenly makes him sad.

The moment he enters he notices she is already there, sitting on a low armchair, lost to the world in a book, despite the rather long line and the sounds of workers getting their fix of coffee before rushing into the nearby offices. The toddler is no-where to be seen.

"Anna," the barista calls. He looks at her; she doesn't seem to have heard. Smiling at the barista, he takes the coffee and places it in front of her, on the low table.

"I believe this is yours."

She looks up, surprised, and smiles at him. "Oh. Thanks. I hope this doesn't become a habit."

He chuckles. She has indeed a very beautiful smile. With a nod, he puts the book he's intending to read on the low couch opposite her. "Is it ok if I sit here?"

"Be my guest."

Although the place is busy, there are other seats to take. She doesn't comment on the fact and, as he stands in line to order for his own coffee, he feels a little bold.

When he comes back, she looks up from her book again, with a small smile.

"Where's your partner in crime?" He asks lightly.

"Oh, Jonah," she beams. "First day at the nursery."

"Is that so?" He squints his eyes at her. "Was it difficult?"

"Not really. He let go of me in an instant and went inside."

"You don't look tearful, though. I've heard sometimes it's the mums who have a rough time leaving them."

Her smile widens. "I'm actually happy," she whispers conspiratorially. "Don't get me wrong, I love the little fellow," she hastens to add. "But he's a handful. And I can't remember the last time I was allowed to just drink my coffee and read a book, like a normal grown-up."

"I'll leave you to it, then," he says with a smile, recognising the dismissal.

She lets out a little friendly chuckle and her eyes are on the book again.

He opens his own book and shuffles in his seat a little. It's not very comfortable, and "his" armchair is unoccupied. Still, he stays put. He wants to know this woman, at least a little. And even if they don't talk, sharing the small coffee table seems to be a first step.

"I'm sorry," she says after a moment.

He looks up from his own book with a smile. "Yes?"

"I was only thinking you know my name but I don't know yours."

He turns around his cup for she to see the spot where the barista has hastily written it. _John_.

"John Bates."

"Anna Smith."

He offers his hand and she shakes it. "Nice to meet you," he says.

"Properly," she adds.

* * *

 **AN: Some of this was inspired by my own toddler (yes, that sick part is very much real). Thanks very much for reading and reviewing. Your support means the world to me!**


	3. Chapter 3

_He has barely slept and he is afraid it will show. It's not his fault. He has never been a very sound sleeper. Without aid, he is lucky is he manages four hours in a row._

 _Anticipation does not help, of course. The fact that there is something to look forward the next day is the perfect recipe for insomnia. And he has something rather big to look forward today._

 _John stands up and ventures into the bathroom. By some miracle, his eyes are not puffy or bloodshot, not even particularly tired. He won't go as far as to say he looks good, but at least he doesn't look too terrible. Somebody could say his eyes are unusually bright, perhaps excited, even, but he wouldn't believe it anyway._

 _There is just light stubble. He won't have any of it today._

 _Very carefully he starts shaving, taking his time in the daily routine. Warm water, foam, razor. Slowly, carefully, thoroughly. The way good things are supposed to be made._

* * *

 **AN: First of all, thank you very very much for all your reviews and encouragement.**

 **I will alternate between one short and one long chapter.  
(I promise it will make sense!)**

 **Cheers!**


	4. Chapter 4

She hates to admit it, even to herself, but she is waiting for him. She does it every time now. After getting her coffee, she sits and hopes he won't take long, hopes he won't head to his usual armchair, hopes he will chose to sit next to her instead. Which he has done three times in a row now.

They don't talk much, but the few things they say sound meaningful to her. At first she thinks it's because of the lack of proper adult conversations in her life. But no, it's not that. She really enjoys his witty, dry remarks and the way he smiles sometimes.

The coffee house is full at this hour. Almost every seat is taken and she doesn't want to risk the couch in front of her being occupied by some office employer. Trying to appear casual, she puts her coat over it, just as a young man on a tie looks at it. Then she feels embarrassed. It's ridiculous, really. They have barely talked a couple of times, and that doesn't give her a right to save him a seat. Besides, who said he wants to sit next to her?

She removes the coat just as the bells of the door ring. She looks up.

His eyes seem to look for her the moment he is inside and both smile. Before heading to the line he walks towards her and leaves his book on the table, as he has done before.

"Hello, Anna."

"Good morning." Does she sound nonchalant enough? Can he sense the emotion in her voice? What emotion? Isn't this the ridiculous behaviour of a fifteen year old in front of her first crush? Shouldn't she get a grip on herself?

With a sigh she takes a sip from her coffee and for a moment she gets lost in the scent. The good stuff.

She can't help looking around, though, and her eyes meet him again, as he waits for his coffee at the counter. Anna looks away hastily and ends up looking at the cover of his book. It's a leather-bound, old-looking volume. _W. B. Yeats_.

The urge to open it is strong, not only because she enjoys poetry. She is curious about the book itself; there must be a story behind it. She forces herself to look at her own book, but her eyes are drawn to his, again, and then once more.

"Do you like Yeats?" He's back at the couch and, with a smile, he places his coffee and takes the seat in front of her.

She beams at him. "I haven't read much of him, but I do. There doesn't seem to be enough time to read for leisure, though."

"What are you reading?"

She turns around the book. _The Story of Art._

"Isn't that leisure?" John asks.

"It's enjoyable, but it's also work."

"Are you an artist?"

"I teach theory classes. And I have to check on my facts from time to time, lest I forget somebody important." She sighs and hopes he doesn't notice how tired she is at the moment.

"If it's a consolation, my reading is not always leisure. I work as a book critic."

"Really? Bates, isn't it?"

"It is. Why?" She has taken her mobile out her bag and starts tapping the screen. "What are you doing?"

"Seeing if I've read your stuff."

He groans, but smiles nonetheless. "Honestly?"

"Of course… wow, you're a writer." He shrugs. She keeps on looking. "Oh yes, I've read this one review. I never thought… well... "

"What?"

"When I read it I never thought about the person writing it."

He chuckles. "And where do you think reviews come from, then?"

She chortles, but ignores the teasing, her eyes on the screen. "I don't fully agree with you on this one, though."

Now he laughs. "Well, that's a relief. I don't like it when people just nod in agreement."

"I've never been very good at doing that."

They fell silent for a while, and, after saving the link to the list of his published works to check on later, she goes back to her book, trying to focus again. She doesn't quite know what to say and she doesn't want to be a bother if he's here to read in peace.

"How's Jonah liking going to the nursery?"

His question surprises her a little and she smiles. "Apparently he loves it. He's very happy when I drop him there and Jane tells me he doesn't really want to go home when she picks him up."

"Jane?"

"She is a friend of mine, and takes care of Jonah in the evenings, while I'm at work."

"And does Jonah's… dad… work in the evenings too?"

She stares at him. Is he trying to ask if she is single or is she seeing stuff that isn't really there?

"I wouldn't know since I haven't lay eyes on the man in almost two years," she tries not to sound snappish and fails.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's all right, you didn't know."

They fall in a somewhat uncomfortable silence, and, almost at the same time, both reopen their books.

She can't really focus, though. In front of her there's an attractive man, apparently interesting and smart, and she wants to get to know him. To see if she could really like him. It's been a long time since she had even consider something like this. And then, what does she have to offer? Why would he want to consider her, single mum and trying to figure out her own life?

They remain silent for almost an hour; eventually she has managed to concentrate on her book again, enough to take out a pencil to underline what seems important. However, she keeps on being aware of his presence. When he stands up, she is relieved he has left his book behind. When he comes back with two coffees, one for himself and another one for her, she beams.

It's almost noon. Slowly she closes her book and takes the pencil off her head. He looks up at her.

"Time to go?"

"I have a class at one."

He smiles, opens his mouth and then closes it again.

"What is it?"

He looks a little uncomfortable. "Would you… would it be too strange if I were to ask you to have dinner with me some time?"

Her heart seems to stop and it takes her a second too long to realise she heard him all right.

"Not too strange," she says. "I'd like that, actually."

* * *

He is almost half an hour earlier than the agreed time. He won't dare knocking at her door yet, so he walks up and down her street, nervous. He doesn't know what exactly came over him that made him ask her for a date. At the time, the happiness he felt when she said yes seemed to be enough. Now, he's not that sure.

He goes around the corner again. If at least there was a coffee house or a bar nearby. Nothing. Just apartment buildings and empty streets.

What if she's annoying? What if they run out of things to say? What if he is boring and starts talking about the weather? What if he feels-?

Tired of his own thoughts, he is glad when it's time. She is ready and comes down, not letting him in.

"I didn't want Jonah to get excited, now he's calmed enough to sit and watch a movie with Jane and her son," she explains.

He barely listens to her. He has always thought she looked pretty in well-worn jeans and shirts, her hair on a loose bun. Today her clothes are not baggy, her hair flows around and there seems to be a different spark to her eyes. Pretty doesn't seem to be a strong enough word for her.

Maybe he is staring, so he hastens to say something. "Is everything all right with you leaving?"

She smiles. "Honestly I don't know. This is the first time I've left at this hour since he was born. And that was one year and nine months ago."

"Really?"

"Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Not at all." He is actually glad. This means he might be his first date in a while. Only, is this really a date?

"Don't be offended if I happen to look at my mobile too much. We mums are supposed to get anxious."

"I'll keep that in mind."

He didn't need to worry. Conversation flows all the way to the restaurant and it's easy and pleasant. She congratulates him on his selection of the place, and she doesn't even look at him questioningly when he refuses the waiter's offer of a glass of wine.

He wants to avoid asking questions that might sound intrusive, but at the end she starts talking about Jonah's father when they are half-way through their meal.

"We were studying together. He was from an exchange programme. At the time it was just about having some fun. And then… you know… you've heard the warnings, you've told them yourself to friends, you know what you shouldn't do… and yet you do it."

He smiles sympathetically. Doesn't he know about that?

"Where you dating at the time?"

She shrugs, blushing slightly. "Not really. I mean… it sounds very stupid, but I guess we were friends with benefits." She draws quotations marks in the air.

"Oh." He doesn't really know what to say. The term sounds like something out of an American movie.

"At the end it turns out he wasn't even my friend." She finishes with a dry laugh.

"I am sorry."

"Don't be. I have Jonah now, and he's just great. I always wanted to have kids. It didn't come the way I would've planned it, but it's all right in the end."

"And what happened to him? Jonah's father?"

"He left. When the PhD programme was over, he went to his own country, good riddance. And that was just when I was around five months pregnant, still hugging my commode every morning."

"That sounds… nice."

"I'm sorry," she chuckles, "didn't want to disgust you."

"You didn't. He does."

"Oh well…" She waves a hand dismissively. He wonders if that nonchalance is an act or if she really is over the whole deal. "What about you? Children? Wives? Girlfriends?"

"No, no, and no." He says, although he feels uncomfortable at the half-truth. "I was married, but that's over." He adds, not sure if he's making it better or worse.

"I'm sorry," she looks sympathetic.

"I'm not," he grins at her and she smiles, a little flustered.

"So, I wanted to read one of your books." He is glad they've changed the subject, but he's not exactly comfortable with this new one, to be honest. "Only, I haven't found the time yet to get to a bookshop."

"You don't have to, really."

"I know I don't have to. I want to." She beams and he is suddenly self-conscious.

"I won't lend you a copy, if that's what you're implying."

"I wasn't and that's mean," she says good-natured. "Why ever not?"

He shrugs. "I'd feel exposed."

"And would that be so bad? It's published. I suppose that when publishing you are sort of expecting people to read it, don't you?"

He laughs. "By all means. But people are an abstraction. Unknown people, that's all right. You, on the other hand, know who I am, and I don't know if I'd like you to know me through my novels."

She remains silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on him. "And how would you like me to know you, then?"

His heart starts beating madly. Everything, her bright eyes, her blunt statement, the way she has rested her chin on her hands seem to have made the world stop on its axis.

"Like this," he manages to mutter. He has a sudden impulse to take her hand and to find out if it is as soft as it seems to be, but he thinks better of it. "Talking, going out, spending some time together."

He realises what he has just said a moment too late.

"Talking is good," she says, and she looks just as surprised as he feels. They don't really know each other. That was the whole point of asking her to have dinner together. Now, though, he is implying something more, something enormous, considering they haven't even reached dessert.

For a moment, both focus on their own plates.

"You know," he remembers something he had thought about saying, if there was a long stretch of silence. "This place has amazing coffee. They get their stuff from different parts of the world."

"I didn't know that." Does she seem relieved? "And I use to keep tabs on interesting coffee places."

"I thought as much. You seem to really enjoy it."

"Do I?" she lets out a little laugh. "I guess I do. It has a power to transport you to places, coffee. Not to mention the rush of energy. Although it doesn't keep me from falling asleep anymore, I guess my body is just too used to it."

He smiles. "I don't need it to stop me from sleeping. Quite the contrary."

"Insomnia?"

"Frequently."

"Well," she smiles impishly and he notes this is a kind of smile he hasn't seen yet. He wonders how many different ones she has and what would it take to see them all. "I can always offer you to spend some time with Jonah one afternoon. You're going to be exhausted. Perfect cure for sleeping problems, guaranteed."

He laughs. "I'll give it a thought."

She echoes his laughter. "Of course you won't."

"I would. What about… does he like the zoo?"

Anna thinks for a moment. "I guess he would. I haven't take him yet."

"Let's do that, then. Next Sunday. The three of us. Would that work for you?"

She looks at him for a moment, and he has the strong feeling he's being put to a test of sorts. "That insomnia of yours sounds pretty serious."

He just smiles.

"Let's do it," she finally nods. "But not this Sunday. Could we make it in a couple of weeks?"

He is a little disappointed, but he also thinks he knows what's behind this. It might be too soon. He might be too eager.

"Of course. You tell me when."

After dinner he walks her to her flat. They have talked non-stop all the way back and he is surprised at how easy it feels to share time with her. It seems to go both ways. As they were sipping their coffee after having desserts, she looked at her phone for the first time in the entire evening, and was surprised to see it was almost eleven.

"Thanks very much," she says, when they reach the front door of the building.

"Thank you, I really enjoyed it."

"Me too. It's been great."

Both stay silent for a moment. He wonders if she's waiting for him to do something.

"Good night then," she finally says.

"Good night, Anna."

And without giving the situation an opportunity to get awkward, he turns around and leaves. As he reaches the corner, he hears her front door closing.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks a lot to all of you. Your reading this story, the reviews, alerts and faves mean the world to me. Special thanks to silly-beggar for all the encouragement.


	5. Chapter 5

_She enjoys the warm water on her face. She doesn't always have the opportunity to take long, lazy showers, and she's making the most out of it now. It feels like a soft caress. Anna turns both taps and lets water fall with more intensity on her back. A gentle massage of sorts, hot and welcomed._

 _Her mind drifts to his hands, how couldn't it? Warm water on her back doesn't really match the intensity of his hands on her, it doesn't even come close. It reminds her more of the early days._

 _Back then it had all been chaste. Casual. Almost like little accidents._

 _She faces the water again and revels in the rhythmic sound. It's a nice caress, a nice moment with herself, and she feels oddly relaxed, despite of the slight anxious feeling caused by what the day will bring her._

 _Anna won't close the taps until the water cools down a bit. It was a treat, a luxury, and she tries to avoid feeling guilty about it._

 _The towel is warm and soft, and it makes her think about his hands again._

 _And that isn't half bad._

* * *

AN: Thanks very much for reading, fav'ing and subscribing to this story.

Next chapter: Some girl talk, questions, doubts and maybe even a date.


	6. Chapter 6

He can't wait for the next morning they'll meet at the coffee house and, in his eagerness, he is much too early. Again. It's better to be here than at home, that's for sure. But he wishes she would hurry up, although he can't really say why. Maybe just to see her is enough. During the busiest time, at nine o'clock, a woman motions to seat right in front of him.

"Sorry, it's taken," John says, not feeling sorry at all.

When she arrives, his heart leaps. Anna smiles at him and orders her coffee. She doesn't wait by the bar for it, but walks over and takes "her" place, right in front of him.

"Hi," she mutters.

"Hello," he can't stop beaming, and that's just ridiculous. Nothing had happened that night. They haven't really said anything meaningful. He hasn't even had the guts to touch her yet. But he can't stop thinking there has been something; something has changed. Or so he hopes.

"You've come early," she says.

He just shrugs. "How are you?"

"I'm good."

He smiles, and takes a deep breath. Nothing to be afraid of. Either she says yes or no. And he'll know where he is standing, either way.

"So," he says, right as she takes out a book from her bag.

"So?" She says, eyes bright and cheeky smile on place.

"Would you like to go to the theatre this Friday?"

"I haven't been to the theatre in ages." She looks pensive and he wonders if that last time was with Jonah's father. It's not a nice thought.

"I thought as much." He forces a cheery tone. "So, what about it?"

"I'd love to."

Both smile at each other, and the look she sends lingers on his eyes. He can't look away either.

"Anna?" the barista calls and she's about to stand up, but he places a careful hand on her knee, for a little less than a second.

"Allow me."

* * *

Anna knows that she should use the spare key just in case, although she very much doubts they will still be asleep at eight. Noises from the kitchen and some yelling from inside the house tell her she was right.

"Hello!" She calls.

"Hi!" Jane's head pops out the kitchen door and then goes back in. "Come here and tell me all about it." Anna smiles and follows her. She is frying eggs and there's the smell of toast and coffee. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Not yet."

She should've taken the opportunity of Jonah sleeping over at Jane's to sleep thoroughly herself, but when she came home she was too distracted, too excited and her mind full of 'what if's. At the end she finally managed to fall asleep around two and barely made it on time to wake up and get dressed.

"I'm glad I'm making plenty, then."

"Muuuum!" small hurried steps come from the corridor. Then a thump. Then some more hurried steps.

"Hi, sweetie!"

Jonah beams and gives Anna's knees a hug, before disappearing down the corridor.

"Freddie is teaching him something with his plastic soldiers," Jane explains.

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably no."

Anna beams. She is always touched at the way Jane's son is willing to take care of Jonah. Like a big brother of sorts.

"Well then," Jane places two steaming cups of coffee on the table and takes a seat, motioning Anna to do the same. "How was it?"

"It was… nice. Interesting. I had fun."

"That bad, huh?" A sympathetic smile replaces Jane's curious demeanour.

"Nooo, not exactly. I mean, it wasn't bad at all! We went to the movies, had something to eat afterwards, talked a lot… The movie was good, the conversation even better-"

"Then?"

"Then…" Anna smiles self-consciously. "I can't believe what I'm about to say."

"Out with it."

"The thing is," she pulls at her fingers. This is a thought she hasn't voiced out yet and maybe it's the wrong one. "There's nothing… physical."

Jane now opens her eyes wide.

"I thought you were going to last night! With your flat all for yourself!"

Anna's smile turns into a grimace. "Never mind _that_. I mean nothing. At all."

"No snogging?"

"No snogging, kissing, holding hands, grabbing or anything of the sort."

"Nothing?" Jane's eyes are wide open.

Anna feels a tad embarrassed. "Well, there was a handshake. And at the time I thought it was rather lingering. Only, that was ages ago, when we introduced ourselves. And then his hand on my back, to guide me through a door, or stuff like that, you know?" She pleads with her eyes for Jane not to think she's being ridiculous.

"How many dates have it been now? Four?"

Anna nods. Jane should know. For the first time in a very long while it's Jane who takes care of Anna's son and not the other way around.

Her friend remains silent for a moment. Anna has the impression she is trying to find the best way to say something unpleasant.

"Well," she finally says, after a large gulp of coffee. "Haven't you considered he might be gay?"

Anna nods. "Of course. That's what I thought at first. But he doesn't strike me as gay. Plus, he has told me about being married. Although I know that doesn't necessarily mean anything," she hastens to add. "Maybe he just doesn't fancy me, that's all."

"But then why does he keep asking you out?"

"Search me."

Loud noises from the corridor make both women look around. Freddie storms in, Jonah riding on his back, laughing.

"Hi, Anna!"

"Hi, Fred. Little one is driving you crazy?"

"Nah!" The twelve-year-old says as he places Jonah on a chair. "He's fun."

"And you're great at taking care of him."

The boy shrugs, as he serves himself a plateful of eggs. The conversation moves to cartoons and the latest action movie Freddie has seen. The main subject is not exhausted, though, and the women's conversation resumes the moment the two kids finish eating and disappear again into Freddie's bedroom.

"So, when are you seeing him again?" Jane asks. "I mean, are you seeing him again?"

"Of course." Anna nods. "We meet at the coffee house every two days."

"That doesn't really count," Jane shakes her head.

Anna sighs and nods. It doesn't count but then... it does.

"The conversation is great, though."

Both stay silent for a moment. Yes, it is strange. Anna likes spending time with John, and she is almost sure he likes to spend time with her. Maybe he just wants to be her friends, but she can't shake off the feeling that there must be something more, something else. But, if that's the case then, why-?

"Oh, I remembered," she suddenly says. "We've made plans to go to the zoo next week. With Jonah."

At this Jane blinks a couple of times.

"Are you joking?"

Anna shakes her head.

"He's offered to take you and your son to the zoo?"

She nods, not sure of where this is going.

"Darling," Jane speaks slowly. "That's the single mum's equivalent of shagging!"

Anna bursts out laughing.

* * *

He doesn't know what to expect. He doesn't really know what made him offer to take her and her son to the zoo, not just once but twice, since she refused the first time. And that second time she beamed and agreed.

A toddler! The last time he was in the proximity of toddlers was some sixteen years ago and they were girls playing with dolls and plastic tea cups.

But he has realised by now he is hopeless when it comes to her. The combination of those blue eyes and that cheeky smile make him say things before considering them, and think things he shouldn't even fantasise about. There is this urge to be with her, to make her laugh and hear her opinions on things. In his heart of hearts, though, he knows he shouldn't feel like this… for both their sakes. But it's easy to forget and let go, do what his instincts tell him to do.

He clutches the paper bag in his hand. Let's do this, then.

When he knocks on her door, he hears a shriek and hopes it's an excited one and not something resembling a tantrum - what does one do when kids have tantrums? When Anna opens the door he decides that whatever the outcome, it was worth it just to see her slightly dishevelled, her hair still wet and not tied, and the apologetic smile.

"Hi! Sorry we're not ready yet."

"Hello." He couldn't care less.

Jonah is standing behind her, partially hidden by her mum's legs.

"Hi, Jonah," he says, trying to sound cheerful, so they won't notice he's slightly scared. Maybe kids smell fear. He crouches and smiles at him. "Long time no see."

The toddler stares for a moment and then beams. "'uffin!" He says.

John chuckles. It's just so good that he is ready for this. With a quick glance at Anna he gives Jonah the paper bag he's been holding behind his back, just as she's saying "Not now, sweetie. Maybe another ti-"

"Muffin!" John says to Jonah, and the toddler smile grows even wider. "I hope it's all right," he adds, looking up to address Anna.

She just nods, apparently speechless.

Jonah is starting to take the muffin out of the bag and Anna stops him. "Let's eat it in the kitchen, little fellow." Both walk inside and John stands there for a moment, unsure, until he hears Anna's voice. "Come on in." He beams as he enters. "Could you take care of this? While I pack?" She points at Jonah, who's clutching the paper bag, and he finds himself nodding. "You're a treasure." She squeezes his arm on her way out and he just looks at the toddler, who looks back at him solemnly.

"'uffin?"

"Right."

The kid climbs on a chair and he tries to remember how Anna does it. Just taking small pieces and leaving them for him to grab seems to work.

"Don't let him put too many of those on his mouth." Anna mutters, as she walks fast down the corridor and back.

Jonah chuckles and John echoes him.

"Excited to go to the zoo?"

Jonah smiles, his mouth full of crumbs and makes a sound that gets John on his feet, frantically looking for napkins. Not now, please. Don't get sick. Jonah chuckles, though, and once he swallows, he repeats the sound.

"Oh! Are you roaring?"

Jonah nods and repeats it again.

"He's been doing that since I explained him about the zoo." Anna says, now grabbing a couple of bottles of juice from the icebox and putting them inside a very small backpack with some cartoon character John doesn't know printed on the front. "All right, we're ready."

"That's what you call packing?" John points at the tiny backpack.

"I'm making a point of keeping it simple," she says, and then she adds in an undertone. "I don't want to scare you."

They drive in her car, because of Jonah's carseat being there already. And everything goes even better than expected.

Jonah runs freely from one point to the other, stopping to stare at something, calling Anna for explanations. She doesn't have much opportunity to talk to John but he discovers he enjoys watching them. Watching her.

At some point Jonah goes to pet the guinea pigs and Anna waits outside, assuring him she would watch from there. With an audible sigh she leans forward on the wooden fence and, at her side, John does the same.

"Are you terribly bored?" She asks.

"What? Not at all. Why? Are you?" He feels bold and nudges her softly. She leans a little bit closer and he likes her arm brushing against his.

"Of course not, silly." For a brief second her eyes leave his and she looks around. "This was a fantastic idea. Thank you!" She looks at him again and he can't help looking at her lips. Would he dare? Would he be allowed?

"Mum, look!" Jonah is holding a not too happy guinea pig. Anna chuckles and he echoes her, but his mind is somewhere else. In that warm patch of skin, her arm, touching his, and her body leaning slightly towards his. He wants to touch, to kiss, to caress, to be as near as possible.

This is not the ideal moment, though. Not with Jonah needing her attention and so many people walking by.

He will later wonder if there is such thing as an ideal moment and if he is either to thick to spot it or too cowardly to do something when the moment arrives.

But time flows, and after a hasty meal of hamburgers and fries, Anna proposes to go back home. She says Jonah looks tired, and John decides mothers must have a sixth sense, because to him the running toddler looks the opposite of tired. And yet, almost the moment the kid is on his seat, he starts blinking lazily, and he is almost asleep when they exit through the zoo gates.

He and Anna barely talk. He feels tired, and he imagines she must be even more so. When they arrive, he offers to carry Jonah inside, but she shakes her head. "He might wake up and get scared. Plus, I'm used to do it, don't worry."

"Let me carry the stuff, then," he says, wondering if she's trying to get rid of him. Fortunately she agrees, and he smiles with some relief.

With well-practiced movements, Anna manages to carry the kid in one arm and open the door with another, and as she enters, she nods her head for John to follow them. She disappears inside an open door, and a moment later she is back.

"Everything all right?" He asks.

"Yeah. He's pretty tired."

"No wonder. I think I've never seen anybody run that much."

"I wanted for him to take a shower first," she says with a shrug. "I guess a day of sleeping smelling like horses and goats won't kill him."

"He might have interesting dreams." John smiles.

"You're right."

Both stay silent for a moment.

"You must be exhausted," he says, partly wishing for her to deny it. He wants to stay a bit longer. To have an opportunity to have some more grown up talk. But Anna does look tired, and he guesses she could use some sleep.

"I am," she nods. "What about you? Do you think this will cure that insomnia of yours?"

He chuckles. "I am fairly confident of that. I might want to rent your kid from time to time."

She smiles. "Be my guest. It won't be cheap, though."

"Oh well," he looks around in mock resignation. Her eyes won't leave his and he doesn't know if she wants him to stay or go. "I'll leave you to have some rest, then." He starts walking to the door, wondering if he'd dare this time. Maybe they are both too tired. Maybe it's best when the smell of horses and goats is not present.

Anna nods and walks behind him.

"Thanks again," she says when they reach the door. "We really had a great day."

"Me too," he says, and as she arcs and eyebrow he nods emphatically. "I mean it. Let me know when you feel up to doing it again."

"If you insist."

"I do." He should go, but he really doesn't want to. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course," her smile broadens.

"Good. Good night, Anna."

She takes a step forward and a scent that has nothing to do with zoos or animals fill him, as she leans closer and kisses his cheek, ever so slowly.

"Sleep tight," she mutters into his skin and it takes all his self-control not to take those lips into his.

Instead, he takes a step back and waves, before turning around and leaving her flat.

She deserves better, there is no doubt.

And yet, the thought of somebody else meeting her, asking her out and daring to do all the things he fantasises about makes the blood on his veins boil. As he drives home he finally makes up his mind. He will try it, and face the consequences later.

* * *

 **AN:** This chapter is dedicated to lemacd, terriejane and silly-beggar, for giving me much needed feedback. I'm really grateful!

And to all of you, thanks very much!


	7. Chapter 7

_Out of habit, he glances at the upper cabinet at the right. For a long time now, it contains paper cups and an assortment of plastic containers. He knows this, of course, but his mind travels there from time to time, nonetheless._

 _With an impatient sigh he opens his freezer and takes out a bag of coffee._ 'Casi cielo', _Guatemala. The sight of it succeeds in changing his humour instantly; it makes him smile. He can't stop thinking about her. Almost heaven, indeed._

 _Enjoying the small daily rituals, he takes and old fashion coffee pot, fills it and puts it on the stove. The smell engulfs him in no time and succeeds in driving away bad memories and shame._

 _There won't be any room for that today. She wouldn't have it._

 _As he pours the freshly brewed coffee on a mug he thinks about texting her. They've agreed they won't and he has to behave. He will, for her._

 _The strong flavour makes him think about her lips that first time, and then so many others._

 _It won't be long now._


	8. Chapter 8

The image in the mirror isn't pretty. Her nose is red and looks bigger. Her eyes are watery. Anna doesn't need to use a thermometer to know she has a temperature. When she hears the door, she sighs relieved.

"Jonah! Jane's here!"

"Jaaane!" Jonah runs to the door and, standing on tiptoes, he opens it.

"Hi, little man. Where's your Mum?"

"Mum sick." Anna can hear concern in her son's voice.

"She'll get better in no time, don't worry." Jane replies softly.

"I can't thank you enough for doing this." Anna says, coming out of the bathroom and scrubbing her nose rather harshly with a Kleenex.

"Don't be silly. I'm glad I didn't have to see any clients today."

"Are you sure you'll be able to pick him up-?"

"Don't worry." Jane interrupts her. "I'll pick him up, he'll sleep over at my flat and that's that. You take as many drugs as you can and have some sleep yourself. Have you called the university?"

Anna nods, in the middle of a fit of cough.

"Good. Just rest, all right?"

"You're an angel Jane, really," Anna says, as she picks up Jonah's bag. She just rolls her eyes. "Ready to go to the nursery with Jane, little fellow?" Anna crouches to be levelled with Jonah. The toddler just nods. "Be good, then, and have fun." Jonah gives her a hug and heads to the door.

Jane is at the door. "Call me if you need anything."

"Will do. Thanks."

And the door is closed and she is alone in her flat, surrounded by ringing silence.

It doesn't last much, as she starts sneezing. With unsure steps she goes to the kitchen and makes herself a cup of tea with lemon and honey, and dissolves some medicine in it. It tastes terrible, but she knows it'll do her good.

Taking a roll of toilet paper with her, she goes back to bed and is asleep as soon as her head touches the pillow.

An insistent noise gets into a strange dream she's having. Something about lemon and Jonah and… there it is, that piercing sound. She sits up straight in bed. It's a sound she's very familiar with. Her front door. Who could…?

She grabs her phone, resting screen down on her night stand. Two missed calls. Four texts. She stands up and walks down the hall to the door, eyes fixed on the screen. It's past mid-day. And those calls are from one John Bates.

She looks through the peephole and she has to make a double take, both at the name on her phone and at the man standing outside her door, for they are the same.

Fumbling a little, she opens the door.

He was frowning, but now he smiles. "Oh… hello." He says, looking a little flustered.

"Hello." She is suddenly aware she's wearing very old flannel pyjamas and even though she hasn't looked at herself in the mirror since that morning, she bets at least her hair could use some brushing.

"I thought… sorry I just came. Only… you didn't come to the coffee house, and you wouldn't answer your phone," he shuffles a little and she thinks it's rather endearing. "I was a little worried."

"I'm sorry, I just have this cold and- do you want to come in?"

"I do," he says with a more confident smile.

She takes a seat on the armchair and motions him to take the couch. "I've got the flu… as it's probably obvious." Just then she sneezes and curses the fact there is no kleenex or toilet paper nearby. "And I felt asleep. I just saw your calls." She looks at the screen of her phone. She forgot all about the messages. "Give me a minute?"

He just nods and she looks at them, a little worried they could be from Jane or the nursery.

All four of them are from him and she smiles. For a moment she doesn't know if she should read them in front of him or wait, but as the thought is forming, her fingers are already tapping.

 _Running late today?_ Is the first, at 10 am.

And then. _Are you all right? Want me to get you a coffee?_

The next one came much later. _Ok, maybe I'm crazy, but I'm a little worried. Is everything all right?_

The last one is from twenty minutes before. _If I don't hear from you in ten, I'm coming over._

She chuckles "I just read your messages. Sorry you were worried. There was no need, really."

He chuckles too, and is it her imagination or is he blushing. "Well… looking at the situation it appears there was a need to worry after all. You are not looking your best, honestly."

"How flattering, John. You surely know how to cheer up a girl."

He rolls his eyes at her. "You know what I mean. Have you have anything to eat? Do you want me to get you something?"

Amongst the drowsiness and her head feeling heavy, she is touched. Except for Jane, she can't remember anybody ever worrying for her like this.

"I was planning on having some soup…" she says weakly.

"Can I give you a hand with it?"

"Aren't you afraid to get sick as well."

"What's life without a little risk?"

She chuckles and stands up. "Come on then."

It's just instant soup and she knows she's more than capable to make it, but he won't let her. Once he knows where the pots are, he tells her to sit at the table while he busies at the stove. There isn't much to do anyway.

They chat, and at some point she goes to the bathroom to check on her appearance. She doesn't look as bad as she feels, really, but still she ties her hair in a bun and changes the top of her pyjamas for something less warm. When she comes back to the kitchen, he's serving the soup in two plates, having sliced some bread he found.

"I've invited myself to lunch, if that's all right."

"It's perfect," she says with a wide smile. "I was counting on it."

"How are you managing with Jonah?" He says, as they both start eating.

"Jane took him to the nursery and then he'll stay at her flat. I just hope he won't get sick. It's bad enough when I have it but he… he just doesn't understand it."

John nods sympathetically. "Let's hope he won't catch it, then." He stares at her and she suddenly feels warm, exposed somehow. It's not the first time this happens. His eyes fixed on hers, and she never knows what to do.

"I hope _you_ won't catch it." She says to escape that feeling. She's not finished, but at a lack of something to do, she goes to her coffee machine and pours herself a cup. "Want one? Even if it's not fresh?"

He nods. "Yes please. I won't catch it," he waves a hand, dismissively. "I'm tougher than that."

"Which makes me what? Weak?" She says teasingly, with a mock frown.

"Delicate?"

She snorts, sitting in front of him again. "I don't know if I like the sound of that."

"It was intended as a compliment."

"Oh well, in that case…" Both laugh and she is glad that strange atmosphere she feels around whenever their eyes meet has somewhat dissipated. They eat in silence for a while and she indulges herself in her less-than-perfect cup of coffee.

"I missed you," he says softly, and there he is, looking at her again, and that warmth creeps over her and she can't tell if it is unpleasant or not. "At the coffee house. I missed you not being there."

She smiles, her hand playing with a piece of bread. "Thanks. I suppose I would've missed you too, if I had been awake." Anna tries to lighten up the atmosphere with a chuckle, but his eyes stay on hers.

"I'm glad," he says, and slowly he takes her hand with his. It's softer and warmer than what Anna would have expected.

And it feels like electricity.

Maybe it's the fact that all those dates without kissing have built up desire in her, a need to have him nearby. Maybe it's just that it's been a long time since she was last touched by a man like this. Maybe it's him. John. Witty, and clever, and fun, and caring.

"Thanks for coming," she manages to mutter.

"I woke you up," he says, his thumb now tracing slow paths on hers.

"Was it so obvious?"

He chuckles. "Only a little. You look adorable, though."

She blushes, and looks down at her almost empty plate. She feels she has to say something, but she is too overwhelmed to make coherent thoughts, let alone sentences.

"I've grown used to see you there, at the coffee house," he speaks again, and she just has to look at him. "Actually… It's the best part of my week. Those mornings reading next to you. The only thing that's better than that is going out with you."

Perhaps she's dreaming. Something marvellous induced by the medicine she took some hours ago.

"I like our mornings too," she hears herself whisper. "I like how we always manage to sit together."

"Oh well, that's us being great at doing accidentally-on-purpose stuff." The laughter makes his eyes crinkle and she feels like melting under his gaze.

"We could just do it on purpose."

He stands up and for a moment she misses his touch, until he takes a seat next to her. "That we can do."

Slowly, carefully he cups her face and she knows what's about to happen although she can't believe it will. But his lips are nearer and she just feels them because her eyes have closed on their own accord. Like everything he does, the kiss is gentle. Slowly he bushes her lips, once and again, and then those lips are no longer there and Anna opens her eyes.

He is beaming and so is she.

Again, he tips his head and this time it's a little less gentle, a little more intense. When he pulls back again she chuckles.

"Now you're definitely going to catch it."

He chuckles. "Do I seem to care?"

"Not really," she manages to mutter before kissing him again.

* * *

"I don't understand. It was supposed to be undefended. We've agreed to that!" He's trying and failing to keep his voice calm and his mind clear. His hand is clutching the phone and his fingers are white.

"The thing is, Mr Bates, your wife-"

"Ex wife."

"Wife." The lawyer insists. "She is still your wife for all legal purposes. Her lawyer just told me she has decided she won't agree ro it. She doesn't want a divorce."

"What?" It feels like lead in his stomach and bile on his mouth. "What do you mean-? Why doesn't she-?"

"I don't really know. Her lawyer says she is not willing anymore, and that she doesn't see there's a good enough reason to not being married to you."

"What does this mean? I won't be able to divorce her?"

His lawyer sighs heavily.

"You could, but now it will be defended. Meaning that you agree to it and she doesn't."

"And what does that imply? I mean, what do we have to do?"

Again, Mr Murray sighs. "It won't be easy. We have to prove there is a good reason for you to want that divorce even if she doesn't want to."

"But… but… what about adultery? Is that a good enough reason?"

"Have you been unfaithful to her? Because in that case you'll lose-"

"No I bloody well haven't! But I bet she can't say the same about herself."

"Well, that's a starting point. Only we need proof of that. Emails, letters, photos, Internet stuff, whatever."

Bates sits heavily on his couch, the phone clutched in his hand. "I can't do that. Internet maybe. But no letters or photos. We haven't lived together in ages!"

"How long?" There's a small amount of interest in the lawyer's voice.

"How long what?"

"How long have you been living apart from one another?"

Bates has to fight his own fury in order to think this through. "Years."

"How many?"

"A lot. Before the Olympics, because I remember watching them on my own."

"2012?"

"No, the ones before those."

"That's great!"

Bates has to confirm he has heard it correctly. "This situation is hardly "great" Mr Murray."

"Of course, I apologise. What I mean is, that makes it more than five years. Which can be another reason for divorce. Too long living apart. Only, again, you have to prove it."

"And how on earth do I do that?"

"Receipts. Tenancy agreements. Mails. Let me look into it and I'll get back to you."

"All right- wait."

He hears shuffling at the other side of the line. Murray was probably just about to hug up on him.

"How long will this take."

The lawyer doesn't sound as optimistic this time. "I don't know, Mr Bates. I'm sorry. It depends on how fast can we get proof of either adultery or of the two of you living apart. And then, it won't necessarily be straightforward."

He is not listening anymore.

He can't.

Without really noticing it he drops the phone and walks into the kitchen. He feels dizzy, walking like an automat, as if this were one of those dreams in which it's difficult to move. He needs air. He needs something to calm himself. Something that would make him forget. That upper cabinet at the right. He dreads it. Hates it, really. And at the same time it's his saviour.

With a decisive movement he wrenches the small door open.

There's just one lonely bottle. His emergency stack, as he calls it with irony.

With trembling hands he snatchs it, and manages to grab a glass. He could just avoid the glass altogether, but that would be going too far too soon. He just needs one small glass. A little something to help his spirits. Just a drop, only a small glass. And then it'll be it. He will feel better. He will know what to do.

He takes the stopper and the smell of whiskey is welcomed.

He's grown too eager though, and when he pours, some of it lands on the table. Just this glass. Just a drop.

And with a large gulp, he drains the glass of whiskey in one.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks to all of you for reading, liking and reviewing. Very special thanks to AnnaMB for the amazing feedback!

(So sorry for the weird update! My mistake!)


	9. Chapter 9

" _Oh bollocks." Out of habit she covers her mouth and checks her surroundings, realising a second later that Jonah isn't there today. Meaning she can swear all she likes._

 _Which is good, but does nothing about the run in her stocking._

 _It's a big one, clearly visible, and she can't understand how this sort of thing still happens to her. And it is the sort of little detail that somehow manages to put her on edge._

" _Bollocks," she repeats, angry at the realisation that it's too early for the stores to be open, and that she might not have a replacement._

 _She was excited, and in a bit of a hurry, but that doesn't justify her lack of care… or her clumsiness. And definitely none of it should affect her good mood. Not today._

 _With a small amount of panic, she rummages her drawer. Panties, socks and bras flight around until she cries in both delight and relief._

 _Right at the bottom there is a package of brand new nylon stockings. Not black like the one she just ruined, but skin coloured. They will just have to do._

* * *

 **AN:** The site has been crazy for a couple of days. I'm sorry for the strange uploads. I think it's ok now.

Your reading, reviewing and fav'ing this story means the world to me! Thanks so much!


	10. Chapter 10

She opens the text again, even though she knows those four words by heart and she can't take them out of her head. Anna wants to be sure, though, that the words are real and the number is his. That this is not a bad dream.

The memory of herself hours ago is humiliating. She was wearing a dress and had taken special care with her hair. She was excited. Eager even. Their plans for that night had finally held a promise of something more, but even if they hadn't, she would have been just happy to see him. To talk to him freely about books, everyday things and life, like they were getting used to.

When getting ready, while she was taking a shower, she thought about him arriving to pick her up, kissing her maybe? While she was doing her hair she remembered the texture of his lips, his hand on her cheek. She wanted more of that, too.

Only, eight o'clock came and went and there was no sign of him. She tried texting him. Something silly, about him getting lost trying to find her flat. As time passed, she started to worry. Not once did it occur to her that she had been stood up.

He had texted her that morning, asking if she was feeling better, if she was up to their previous plans to have dinner that evening. She had said she was feeling as good as new and yes, of course she wanted to have dinner with him. his response had come instantly.

 _I'll be there at eight. xxx_

And then, nothing.

Anna forced herself to wait until it was past ten to call. It just rung until the recorded message kicked in. She doesn't remember what she said. Then she texted him she was worried. She just wanted to know if everything was all right. If he was all right.

Half an hour later, those four words.

 _Fine. Leave me alone._

And then emptiness. For a wild moment she considered he had been mugged. He must have been. But what sort of burglar would answer back a text instead of switching the stolen phone off? It didn't make sense at all. So, the only explanation was one Anna couldn't even consider.

She went to bed with her head heavy with questions and sleep eluded her for a long time.

When Jane came by to drop Jonah the next morning, she was clearly in a hurry.

"How was it?" She asked on her way to the door.

"Fine." Anna decided right then that she hated the word.

"You look as if you were awake all night," there was laughter in Jane's eyes. "I'll drop by later for the whole story."

"Great," she said to Jane's retreating back.

She is going to tell her later. She doesn't now because she knows Jane. She would've cancelled whatever important thing she had ahead and stay to comfort her. It wouldn't have been fair to Jane and Anna isn't ready for it, really.

She is about to ask Jonah if he's hungry when a buzz comes from the front door.

"Who is it?"

"'lo, Anna." Long pause. "It's me."

She freezes for a second, her hand hovering over the button. Relief and anger fight inside her. She wants to make sure he's all right, she needs and explanation and she has an urge to slap his face for good measure.

"Come up then," she manages.

When she opens the door she refrains from gasping aloud, just barely. Had she seen him on the street she might not have recognised him.

"John, what the-?"

His clothes are dirty and dishevelled. There are stains on his jacket and her shirt isn't neatly tucked in, as she has always seen it. But the one thing she notices over all this is the stench. Frightfully familiar from times she all but wishes to forget.

"Anna," he blurts out, stumbling over the threshold. "'S good to see you."

For a moment she doesn't know what to say, what to think. This has to be a mistake. Has to.

"What happened to you?" She finally manages, without letting him walk inside the house.

"I... I..."

"We had a d- an appointment yesterday."

"Yeah. We did. I... forgot..." he trailed off lamely, and his body moved forward as if he had tripped over an invisible obstacle. His hand moved to the threshold, sliding before managing to steady him.

"You're drunk." Anna stated, unnecessarily.

"Aw, Anna!" This time his bending forward is quite deliberate and she jumps back to avoid his hand cupping her cheek and his lips getting closer. The tips of his fingers feel clammy in that brief brush. The alcohol in his breath makes her feel nauseated.

"You stood me up. You didn't even answer and when you did... I wish you hadn't."

"Wait. What?" He seems surprised by her rebuff, and confused. A moment after, he is defensive. "I- I had a b- bad day, all right?"

"I certainly hope you're not making excuses-"

"I bloody well have the right-!" the sudden rise of his voice makes her jump for the second time.

"Not in this house, you don't." She clenches her teeth. She is frightened, but the last thing she wants is for him to notice it. It's never good when they sense you're vulnerable.

"I just..." he clenches his teeth, and gives the threshold and punch. Anna jumps. "I had fucking terrible news! I needed-! I just-!"

"And you couldn't have called to cancel, couldn't you?"

"I don't need t- to answer to you!"

"No, I suppose you don't." It feels like a heavy weight settling on her shoulders, but she knows about drunks, a good deal, and she has learned that trying to reason never works. Still, this is not the time to be understanding. She won't be understanding. "Only, that's the decent thing to do."

"You're being like this bec- because decency? When you don't know-" He trails off. "You have no idea!" He yells again.

Then John gives a small step inside and it take Anna a lot of effort not to back up herself. She stands her ground, though, torn between not wanting to break eye contact and looking for any object around that she could use to defend herself. Suddenly she realises she doesn't know the man in front of her, and she is very, very scared of him.

"Mum?"

She wheels around. Jonah is standing in the hall, his teddy bear clutched to his chest.

Unshed tears sting in her eyes but she manages to crouch in front of him. "I'll be right there, sweetie. Go play with the train."

The boy looks at John, frowning. "'uffin?" He asks.

"We go there later, all right? To get you a muffin." Jonah smiles and nods, albeit uncertainly. "Now go to your room. I'll be there in a moment, all right?"

Jonah obeys and, before standing straight and turning around, Anna takes a deep long breath.

"Leave." She says, surprised at how steady her voice comes out even though her hands are shaky.

"Anna, I.. I'm sorry-" He lowers his shoulders and takes a shaky breath.

"Leave. Now."

"I... I know I blew it-"

"'Blew it' doesn't even begin to cover it." Her voice is now a low growl. "Now leave. Get out. Sober up." She takes another deep calming breath. "Never come to this house again and get the fuck out of our life."

"I..."

He looks at her, eyes slightly unfocused, and it is so difficult for her to see there the spark there, the wit or the kindness. It breaks her heart.

He sighs and his shoulders drop.

"I'm sorry," his voice quivers, but he takes a step back. Walking around him, and feeling far less courageous than what she's trying to show, she opens the door.

He looks at her for another moment and then he turns around.

"I'm really sorry." She barely hears over the sound of the door closing and the strong smell of whiskey that suddenly fills her lungs.

She closes the door and leans against it, the air seems contaminated. That fucking bloody alcohol.

Anna has to run into the bathroom, still nauseous. More deep breaths and she feels a little calmer; she opens the tap and lets the water run on her wrists for a moment.

"Mum!" Jonah calls from outside the bathroom door.

"I'm here, sweetie." She wipes off that lonely tear and forces a smile. "Want some eggs?"

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you all, very very much!


	11. Chapter 11

_Walking barefoot and on his underwear he reaches for the black shoes. He checked on them the night before, after remembering almost too late to get new socks._

 _Now, at the bright light of the sun, the shoes don't look good enough. Clean enough. Perhaps he should have gotten new shoes as well, but he hasn't and now it's too late to regret it._

 _He walks to the kitchen again, and looks under the sink. There is some black shoe polish._

 _His undershirt is perfectly white, so he puts on an apron. He likes the task of polishing his shoes. Mechanical, soothing. It allows his mind to wander._

 _It takes him some time to do it right, but he doesn't really mind. It occupies part of what otherwise would have been an empty morning, until it's time to go. And he has learned that there are some things that can't be rushed; some things need time. What a difficult lesson that one has been._

* * *

 **AN:** I'm seriously overwhelmed by the reponse to last chapter! Thank you very very much!


	12. Chapter 12

He wakes up in his own coach, drenched in sweat and dirty. His throat burns but this is not the blissful relief from hours ago. And then something else is burning and is so much worse.

Shame. So big it's painful. As the memories start to flow back he wants to crawl into bed, to hide from the world and let time pass. He needs to forget.

But above it all, he needs to see her.

 _Never come to this house again. Get the fuck out of our life._

John buries his head on his hands and groans. From the pain in his head, the physical uneasiness, the nausea, that engulfing shame is the worst. He wants it all to disappear. He needs to forget her words, and that look… has it been fear? Disappointment? Contempt? As he makes an effort to recall, despite the searing pain, he realises it has been a mixture of all three. And then…

Then she had looked at him calmly. Almost with indifference. As if she didn't care about him anymore.

And she had told him to go.

Jonah. The boy had seen him like this too. Somewhat this thought is even more shameful. Jonah had been scared of him, too.

It takes John an effort to stand up. He is disgusted by his own stench. He needs to take a shower, and maybe it will wash away a little of that overwhelming shame. Only, he knows it's not true. The only thing strong enough to really wash away it all is not plain water on his skin.

The first bottle of whiskey lies horizontal and empty on his kitchen table. From where he's standing, he can see the tip of it. Or was it the second? At some point he had gone out to get some more. How many bottles had it been? There's still something left, he is sure. There was something the moment he realised he had stood up Anna, and, in the most stupid decision of his life besides marrying his first wife, had decided to go and see her. He should know it by now. He's not to make decisions when drunk.

Stumbling against his couch and hitting his toe, he manages to walk to the kitchen. _Please, let them be empty. Please, let them have something still. Please._ His prayers are answered. There is still half a bottle of whiskey standing on the kitchen counter. The afternoon sun, entering through the window, gives it a golden glow. It looks almost beautiful.

With a shaky hand he grasps a fistful of his own hair. No. He can't do it. It'll make his situation so much worse.

Only, is there any worse?

Vera isn't going to give him the divorce. Anna is gone. Or, to be precise, he is gone from Anna's life. What's there for him to hold on to? He doesn't even feel there is dignity left in him. Is there a reason, some hope, anything that should keep him away from that glow? From falling into a peaceful forgetting that feels almost like being forgiven?

He'll regret it later. Whenever he runs out of whiskey or sleeps it all off or gets too near a deadline that forces him to take a break. Then he'll feel the weight of his own guilt and shame, all over again. Multiplied tenfold.

He takes the bottle carefully. He has to pour it all down the drain, and take a shower, and figure out how to fix the mess his life has turned into.

Only, he is weak. And after the last hours, he feels he deserves a little break from it all.

So he gulps the contents of the bottle, not even bothering to use a glass.

* * *

He wakes up on Monday afternoon. Now he's definitely out of liquor and he manages to get into the shower and into clean clothes.

It feels like a very strange, terrible nightmare, and he knows it's not because it all is just too familiar. The terrible memories chasing after him, the engulfing feeling of having let down people he cares for, the physical pain.

Now, however, he feels numb. The shame is still there, and the guilt, and memories of Anna's expressions, of Jonah's wide opened eyes, of the phone call with his lawyer. It will get worse, he knows that. But he feels too ill at the moment to get himself more whiskey.

Out of habit, he opens his laptop and checks his emails. He has suspected this; he has a deadline for a book he is supposed to review. His editor is reminding him he needs it by Tuesday morning. He feels bad. Terrible. But he knows he can't just fail at this too. It's his only paying job, the royalties of his books not being enough to keep him afloat.

So, despite his terrible headache, and the taste of bile in his mouth, he manages to finish reading the book and type some words that might make some sense. It's not a very pleasant novel, nor a great job altogether, but it succeeds in keeping him distracted. When he rereads the review, he knows it's not his best. It's barely good. But it'll have to do.

Now that that's finish, though, he is forced to his memories again.

Anna haunts him. He needs to see her.

Only now he realises Monday is over and he never went to the coffee house. Would she have gone there, though? Somehow he suspects she wouldn't. She wouldn't meet him. So much was clear. And yet, he can't help hoping. Wishing her reaction was a spurt-of-the-moment thing that might go away after a couple of days. Bitterly he laughs at his own silly idea. She won't go there, he is sure.

And still, on Wednesday morning he is at the coffee house at the time they open. John had forced himself to stay off the whiskey to manage that, and he feels strangely sick to his stomach.

The smell of coffee helps, but after six hours and three large cups, he has to admit she won't come. When he exits the coffee house, his steps direct him to another store. A small supermarket near his house. He makes a beeline to that shelf and grabs two bottles. John knows he's a sorry excuse of a human being. Weak. Sad. But is there something left for him at all?

When he arrives home, one third of one of the bottles is already gone. He feels both better and worse. It's still not enough for him to forget, not enough to cover the refreshed waves of shame at this most recent pitiful act. Maybe he should go for a long walk. Maybe he could leave the bottle behind.

He keeps on drinking, mechanically, while he considers it. Yes, walking is not bad. And, if he's still feeling bad, he could always return to the rest of the whiskey.

With a heavy sigh he grabs a jacket and opens the door. While looking for his keys, he puts a hand inside the pocket. There is something inside; three tickets. He remembers. They were standing in line to enter the zoo, Jonah excitedly jumping up and down, and he had considered getting them a family ticket. The cashier informed him that it was cheaper to get them three separated tickets. He remembers, though, how he had smiled at the thought of family. It was certainly too early to think about Anna in such terms, but the fact that the idea was appealing was a revelation of its own.

John stares at the three tickets. Two adults. One child.

With a swift movement he grabs both bottles and smashes them on the sink. A small piece of glass cuts the back of his hand. The golden contents disappear down the drain. He doesn't care.

xxxx

On Friday he knows. She doesn't go to the coffee shop, but he has to see her nonetheless. It can't be her house either; he was not to go there.

There is one other place though. He has made an effort and stayed sober for that. He takes special attention on taking a long shower and dressing with care in order to look more like himself. At least, that part of John Bates she knows.

He knows she has a class on Friday afternoon. The university site tells him she also has office hours.

It's worth a try.

He knocks the open door of the small office and Anna looks up and gasps. He has scared her and that adds even more pain to his shame.

"Hello, Anna" he says, staying at the door. Bracing himself for the possibility of her throwing him out. Ready to go away if that's the case.

"What are you doing here?" She was not expecting to see him, that's for sure.

"You told me never to go to your house again."

"It's a wonder you remember." Her voice now is heavy with sarcasm.

"Oh I remember. I remember it all. It's one of the worst parts of it." He finishes in a low voice.

"I'm finding sympathy very hard to come by. How did you find me?"

He shrugs. "There are not many PhDs named Anna Smith teaching art theory."

She looks around and he sees her eyes resting on her phone briefly. Is she so scared she is thinking about calling for help?

It takes her a moment to finally speak.

"What do you want, John?" Her voice is cold. Steely. And it feels like being punched in the guts. He deserves no less.

"I want to apologise." He sounds lame even to himself. "I really ruined it. I don't know what made me go to your house in that state-"

"I'm glad you did." Her words startle him, but they shouldn't. "Now I know."

"I wish you didn't."

She scoffs. "You're an alcoholic, John. Were you planning to keep that hidden? For how long?"

"Am I? Yes, I reckon I am..." it seems that it's a concept he's not familiar with, and yet this is hardly the first time he's been called thus. Only, coming from her it sounds in a way nobody had managed before.

"You drink every day?"

He shakes his head.

"You get heavily drunk how often?"

"Look-" he feels sudden exasperation. What does she know about it? Why does she have to be so darn patronising? But that's not the way to go, at all. He breaths heavily. "Sometimes. Sometimes... when I'm upset..." he really doesn't know how to explain it. The feeling of being caged inside himself, without a way out. The oppression, the need to forget, and the blissful relief. A dry burn in his throat. An ache that is also like a balm. She is waiting for him to elaborate and he feels he will never be able to convey it all. Not even to this beautiful, amazing woman who, mere days ago, was willing to share kisses with him. "I had very bad news that day. It's not an excuse, I know," he raises as hand as she opens her mouth to protest. "Only... I lost control. And at some point I couldn't stop thinking about you and how you are such a nice person. I know I shouldn't have gone to your flat. I shouldn't have lost control-"

"You shouldn't have drunk, to begin with."

"I know." It's not that simple, though. "I just want to say… I was getting a divorce."

"Are you married?" she looks up at him, her eyes wide.

"We're separated. Haven't even lived together for years. I wasn't sure where she was until recently, that I tried to contact her to get a divorce." He wants to tell her that it's because he met her that he decided to look for Vera and become a free man. It's useless now, there's no point on her knowing this. "And at first she agreed. For the past two months I was convinced it'll be a matter of signing papers. That day, though, I had a call from my lawyer. She decided not to agree with it."

"So you're married," she says simply.

"For the time being. I'll get that divorce, no matter what. Only, I know it'll take a lot of time and effort. And I know this now. That day I thought- I don't know exactly what I thought but I felt hopeless."

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. For a long moment none of them speaks. He paces to the window and stares outside. Two floors below a group of students sit under a tree, notebooks open.

"My stepfather is an alcoholic." She says quietly after a while. "My mum knew long before she married him."

He turns around. Anna looks pale, but her eyes flash.

"I didn't know."

"How could you've known? I've hardly told this to anybody." She sighs. "You, at my door, the stench, the yells... it was all just too familiar."

"I'm sorry." He repeats although he knows it's not nearly good enough.

Anna, however, nods. "Yeah, I know. You're sorry. You didn't mean it. You lost control." Her voice is flat. Emotionless. "How many times have I heard it all told to my mother? Accompanied by roses, kisses, presents, promises he was never able to keep." She looks straight into his eyes, for the first time since he's there. "I know you can hardly talk about fault in these cases. It's much more complex than that."

"I am guilty, though."

"You have a problem. A condition. A disease. Name it as you like. And you are responsible if you're not doing a thing to control it."

He stayed silent for a long time. In all those years with Vera, or the drunken nights later when he had been picked up by Robert from one pub or another, or those times when he would wake up in the morning not sure about how did he end up where he was. Nobody has put it as plainly as this. A disease.

He is at a loss of what to say.

Anna takes a couple of deep breaths and for a second it seems as if she is about to cry. She doesn't. Instead, when her voice comes out, it's strong. "I don't need another alcoholic in my life. I had more than enough of that while growing up. I won't have it. And above it all, I'm not putting Jonah through this the way my mum did with my sister and me."

He has feared the worse but there was hope. Hope she was crushing and yet, how could it be any differently.

"I understand." He says instead of screaming as he wishes to.

"You seem to be a good man, John. You are a good man. And deserve better than to become what you are when you drink."

Both stay silent for what feels like a long time. He feels her eyes on him, but he can't meet them.

Finally he shrugs, fighting the not in his throat. "I'll... I'll leave you to it, then."

She nods and he takes one step back.

"Take care, John. And good luck."

"Good luck, Anna." he feels unsure, but if this is the last time, he might very well tell her. "You are a wonderful woman. I'm so sorry I couldn't- be safe, all right?"

"You too."

He can't take it anymore, so he turns around and leaves almost at a run. It hurts, more than he anticipated. Shame, pain, it all fills him inside. Of course she would turn him down, but he can't stop thinking on how close he had been of something special, wonderful, for once in his life.

He wants it to end, that dry ache. He wants to forget it all existed. He even wants to forget she existed, so he can go back to his lonely, bitter existence without having to beat himself up every second for this lost opportunity.

His legs seem to have a willing of their own. He walks through the exit and into a busy street. There is a store in the corner. They'll have enough for him to calm down, to forget and be forgiven, if only for a brief time. He needs just this small break from reality, he needs-

John comes to a halt, abruptly. He leans on a signpost and realises he's panting. The sign of the store shines under the sun, inviting.

He puts a trembling hand inside his pocket. There is his wallet and his phone. The first one is such an easy possibility.

But he takes the mobile instead and almost frantically scrolls down until he finds the name- the only person that might stop him now.

"Rob, it's me. Please," his voice is weak and he's ashamed, but he just has to put an end to this. "Please, can you come pick me up? And the take me somewhere? Please?"

* * *

 **AN:** Could I offer you all some chocolate chip cookies to apologise for the angsty chapter?

I promise a more hopeful one in the very near future. Thank you all very much.


	13. Chapter 13

_It's a beautiful blue tissue. It was love at first sight when she saw it on the window of that small shop in Kensington. She had objected, of course. She shouldn't be spending so much money in a dress. Jane had been with her at the time and had drowned all her weak arguments._

 _Now that she was looking at it again, she had to admit her friend had been right._

 _With care, almost reverence, she undoes the row of buttons and the zipper on the back. The fabric feels like a soft caress. She takes it in her hands and, taking some time, she puts in on._

 _The large mirror on her bedroom's wall tells her what that mirror in the changing room did. It's her colour; it's her type of dress. Jane had pointed out back then that it matched her eyes. She scoffed, but now she has to admit there is something to it._

 _With some effort, she manages to close all the buttons. It would have been nice to have somebody to help her, but then, she's actually glad she has this time alone for herself. She's actually enjoying her small preparations._

* * *

 **AN:** So, the cookies disappeared. Thanks for your support!

Next chapter: more coffee, some gratitude and a new character.


	14. Chapter 14

"... they are willing to go all the way, which means we'll get to plan for some btl advertisements and that will be a tad of a challenge, all things considered..."

The talk about the latest marketing campaign of Brian's company has been going for almost half an hour now. She is only half listening, and even though it makes her feel slightly guilty, she has many things to think about right now.

He is really enthusiastic about his work and Anna can't blame him for it. But sometimes she can't stop zoning off when he's going on and on about it. Apparently he doesn't even notice, but she feels bad nonetheless.

Her phone rings, a message alert, and she picks it up from the table. It's a picture, sent by _him_.

She holds her breath. It's been such a long time. For a moment back then, right after his visit to her office, she considered blocking his number. However, he never tried to contact her again, so eventually she forgot about it. Not about him, though.

She, on the other hand, can't honestly say she has kept her distance. Anna didn't call him, or tried to directly contact him at all, but sometimes she couldn't help but wonder. She didn't want to go back to the coffee house again, which meant she and Jonah went to some searching before settling on another place, not as good or as nearby as the first one, but good enough.

Sometimes, though, when she drives down that street, she slows down a little. Not so much that it's noticeable. Just a tad. And then she looks through the window. She can't notice much through the dark glass, but she never sees him.

One afternoon she is distracted and takes that very same road with Jonah in the car.

"'uffin! 'uffin, mum!" Of course he would remember.

For a moment she considers convincing him to go somewhere else, to have something different to eat, but she decides against it. It's not his coffee house and she is as entitled as anybody to go inside.

As she unbuckles Jonah, she realises she is actually anticipating it. She wants to see him just as much as she dreads it, and that is very bad.

She shouldn't have worried. As Jonah eats his muffin and she sips her coffee - this one is really so much better is a shame - she looks around. The armchair is occupied by an elderly woman. There are not many patrons but John is not one of them. The little bells over the door sound a couple of times and she looks up, feeling pathetic every time, and strangely sad and relieved when it's not him.

Now he has send her a message and she is itching to see what's about. Not with Brian in the room, though. She can't really say why, but she doesn't want him to question or her to explain.

They finish dinner, as Jonah comes and goes. He's getting used to Brian's presence and Anna is not sure how good or bad that is.

"Are you ready for your bath, little man?"

"Yeah!" Jonah says, running into the bathroom.

"Wait for me!" Anna yells at his back.

"I better be off, then." Brian says, and she is glad he doesn't suggest to stay for a cup of coffee after Jonah goes to bed. He hasn't stayed for the night yet, and she has the feeling that is a somewhat natural step they have to take rather sooner than later.

"Thanks for the desert." She says standing up.

"Sure. Movies on Sunday, right?"

"Yes. Jane's already said she can take care of Jonah."

Brian gives her a quick kiss. "Tell her I owe her."

Anna chuckles. "Will do. See you."

"Good night, babe."

She doesn't open the message then either, but goes about helping Jonah with his bath and putting him to bed. It's almost one hour later when she's finally on her couch, twirling her phone on her hand.

It's just a message. Maybe he sent it to her by mistake. It's nothing.

She looks at the name. John Bates.

Quickly, she taps. The picture is not very good. It's a dark green circle, with some numbers and words written on it. It looks a little like a poker chip. She taps in the image to enlarge it. There is a triangle and, at the centre if it, a number three.

She really has no idea what this is.

Her fingers hover over the screen, while she thinks. Somehow the idea of ignoring it never crosses her mind.

 _John?_

His answer comes an instant later.

 _Hello, Anna!_

 _Hi. What's that picture?_

It takes him some time to compose his answer this time, and she looks eager at the sign that indicates he's typing.

 _That's a sobriety chip. It's what you get for staying sober._

She doesn't know how to reply to this. Ha can't possibly be thinking that this could erase what happened, make her forget he was drunk and yellin in her house. And yet… she looks at the image again. 3 months. _To thine own self be true_. Anna is tempted to ask him what exactly does he want, but she decides to wait, albeit impatiently.

A moment later she sees he's typing again.

 _Can we have a cup of coffee?_

No. Her first instinct is to type those two letters as fast as possible, but he's writing again and she waits.

 _Just for a couple of minutes. I'd like to give you something. Then I'll be off, promise._

The urge to turn off her phone and go to bed is overwhelming. She even puts her finger on the button. What does he expect to happen? To have coffee that time, and then another, and then another, and get themselves back where they were? Images of those dates, of those conversations at the coffee shop make her long for it. Would it be that bad? Of course it would. He is an alcoholic. You said you wouldn't have another alcoholic in your life.

But curiosity and the mental image of him, taking a deep breath before typing, make her answer the opposite.

 _Ok._

She feels she's just opened Pandora's Box.

* * *

From where he's sitting, he can see the pavement outside. He has a book opened on his hands, but it's a prop. For the life of him he's unable to repeat what the paragraph he's reading over and over is about. He can't help but wonder. Is she really going to come? It seemed a very remote possibility and before writing to her, he had spent a good hour getting ready for rejection.

When she didn't reply to the picture for a long time, he was sure everything was lost. Still, he kept his mobile at hand, switching channels on the tv, without really looking at anything in particular. Every five minutes or so he would look at his phone. Unread. And then, after what seemed like an eternity, she had answered.

Maybe she was afraid he would want to ask her out again. He does, of course he does. But he is no fool and knows it will be difficult, if even possible. One step at a time. One day at a time. That's one of the lessons he is learning these days. It's terribly annoying. Exasperating. But he knows he can't rush things, especially having blown it so spectacularly with Anna. No, just coffee is more than fine. He needs to convince himself it's just perfect.

If she shows up, that is.

He looks up again. She is outside, slowly walking towards the door, and his heart does a funny jump. She stops, and it take all his willpower not to run to the door and call her inside. One step at the time, he repeats. Will she enter?

Anna looks inside and their eyes meet. He smiles, slowly, and she does the same although it doesn't reach her eyes. A moment later she finally enters the coffee house and he has to remember not to jump out of his chair to meet her. Instead he keeps on smiling and waits for her to take the seat in front of him.

"Hello, Anna," he says. Is he really talking to her? Isn't this just his imagination?

"Hello," she says, looking around uncomfortably.

"Let me get your coffee."

"There's no need-"

"Of course there is. I dragged you here," he smiles and goes to the counter before she can keep on protesting. If the barista smirks at them or not, he doesn't notice; he is glad she can't look at him while he waits for the coffee to be served. However, from where he is standing, he can look at her. Back straight, hair on a ponytail. To think he touched that hair once, to think he could've done it again, is enough to both elate him and make him feel sick.

No, he shakes his head almost imperceptibly and takes the cup the barista is handing. He won't follow that train of thought.

"Here you go," he places the cup in front of her and takes his sit.

"Thanks."

They stay silent for a moment. He knows what to say, but he doesn't seem to be able to find his voice.

"So," she says after taking a sip of her coffee, trailing off.

"I'm sorry, I… well, thanks for coming." He manages an awkward smile. It's always been easy to talk to her, this shouldn't be any different. "I know it's weird and you did tell me to get out of your life."

She doesn't say a thing but stares at her cup of coffee.

"I just," he suddenly needs to take a deep breath. "I felt I needed to thank you."

"Thank me?" She blinks a couple of times. "What ever for?"

He smiles and searches inside his pocket. Since that first chip with a number 24 on it, he has made an habit to carry the last one in his pocket. It had felt silly at first. 24 hours of being sober is hardly a very difficult achievement, but it was a step in the right direction.

"This." He places the green circle on the table. Slowly, Anna takes it in her hands.

"Looks bigger in real life," she comments, turning it around. "I've never seen one of this before."

"Neither had I. That's what I want to thank you for. I'm going to AA meetings, obviously." He lets out a dry chuckle. "Never thought I would. Or that I'd needed them. But there I was, after talking to you at your office. Walking down the street and feeling… let's say I wasn't feeling too great."

She finally looks at him, properly, for the first time since she entered the coffee house. How he has missed those bright blue eyes.

"You'd said it was up to me to do something about it. So I did. Called a mate and asked him to pick me up and accompany me to a meeting. We had to look on our phones where to go, I had no idea. And I ended up in this place. I've been going there ever since. Three months and four days, today." He smiles. What a sad thing to feel proud about, but he does. "And it's you I have to thank for it."

With slightly trembling hands she gives him the chip back. "That's great, John."

He shrugs. "Sometimes it feels good, yes. But there is something I have to say."

"What is it?"

He leans forward and enjoys the little anticipation on her expression.

"The coffee they serve on those meetings is the single most disgusting thing I've ever had."

Anna stares at him for two seconds before finally chuckling. He revels in the sound.

"For a moment there I thought you were going to say something meaningful."

"Hey! Excuse me, but that is very meaningful. Some of those meetings are very dull, so they give you all the coffee you can get. We're talking about an important part of my life here."

Now it's a proper laughter and he feels it's a small victory.

"Anyway," he continues. "I could have said this all over the phone, but I thought it'll be better to do it in person. And, it gives me a chance to give you this." John takes the tote back resting on the couch next to his and produces a book. The cover is just too familiar and he feels self-conscious. This is important, though. It's part of his own very personal process. "Here."

She takes it, frowning slightly. Then it's all clear.

"This is your book," she says.

"The first one I wrote, yes."

"Why are you giving it to me now? I thought you didn't want me to…" she trails off. That was another time; another life, almost.

He shrugs. "I don't know. It's part of a new personal policy of not keeping myself hidden, maybe. You don't have to read it, really. But I thought… I wanted you to have it."

She looks at the cover and he sees her trace his name with the tip of her finger.

"Thanks," she finally mutters. Then she opens the first page, and then the second. For a moment he is scared she will start to read it then and there, but a second later she's looking at him again. "Would you sign it for me?"

He stares. "Really?"

"Of course. What's the point of knowing an author if you can't have their books signed." She rummages in her bag and produces a pen. "Plus, that way I might sell it on the Internet when you become a worldwide best seller. Might even pay for Jonah's university."

He chuckles and takes both pen and book. He really has no idea of what to write. It has to be special, of course, but not too much. He doesn't want to scare her.

John can feel her eyes on him. "Can't do it if you're staring."

"Oh, all right," she says, and takes her cellphone out of her bag. "Pretend I'm not here, then."

If only.

After two minutes he hands the book back to her. It's not even half of what he would have like her to know but it's not entirely shallow either.

"Thanks," she repeats. She doesn't read it, but places it on her knees, a hand over the back cover.

He takes a long sip of coffee. "So, how've you been? What's Jonah up to these days?"

She smiles. "He's doing great. Speaking non-stop, although I can hardly understand what he's saying half of the time."

He chuckles. "Still loving nursery?"

"More and more every day." She lowers her voice and her eyes twinkle. "Does it make sense to be jealous of her teacher?"

That makes him laugh and she joins it. "I guess," he manages. "And how are you… besides of jealous, I mean?

She stops laughing now and her eyes are fixed in her coffee again. "I'm seeing somebody."

"Of course you are." His smile is stiff; it feels like physical pain even though it makes a lot of sense. Why she had been single when he had first met her had been puzzling to begin with. "Is it serious?"

"We're starting, really. But I like him."

"I'm glad." He tries to sound sincere, even though he's the very opposite of glad. "You really deserve to be happy."

"I am."

"Good."

There is an awkward pause and both reach for their cups. John realises his is almost empty but still he pretends to be drinking. He doesn't know if he can meet her eyes.

"Well," she says after a while. "I should get back… got a class."

"Yeah," he wants to believe her.

Carefully putting his book on her bag, she stands up. "Thanks for the coffee… and the book…"

"It was nothing." He stands up as well, although he's not sure why. The small coffee table is between them, and he's glad.

She smiles at him. "Bye, John. Take care. And congratulations," she points at the chip, forgotten over the table.

"Thanks. And thanks for coming."

"Sure." She turns around and heads to the door, but then she stops on her tracks and looks back at him. "Maybe…" she shuffles from one foot to the other. "Maybe I'll see you around… here…"

He can't believe it. He doesn't want to. She is just being nice after all the awkwardness. Still, he can't help but hoping… Is she really meaning that?

"That'll be nice," he says, trying to sound nonchalant.

She nods. "Bye, then."

And with swift steps she is outside. His eyes follow her through the window, glad that she can't see the way he is beaming.

* * *

 **AN:** A little bit of hope to start the week!

[A guest reviewer, Lourdes, mentioned she knows what's to live with an alcoholic. Thanks so much for sharing. I hope I'm portraying it right, how hard, complex and so very human it all can be. Again, thanks and a big hug!]

Thanks very much to all readers and extra thanks to those who take some time to review! You people really make my day!


	15. Chapter 15

_He already has the crisp white shirt on. There's nothing else to do but to put on the tie and jacket and go. But he's still more than half an hour too early._

 _He walks around his flat restlessly. It looks rather empty, but his telly is still in the living room, in front of the couch. He turns it on, sitting carefully, as to avoid his pants to wrinkle._

 _A minute later he realises he's just shuffling through the channels, unable to settle on any mediocre show or half movie. No, this won't do._

 _John throws the remote on the coffee table and his eyes rest on a block of paper. He has many of these lying around the house, in case some idea occurs to him he doesn't want to lose track of. Now this is something he can make._

 _With a content sigh he takes the block and a nearby pen, and looks at the blank page._

 _It takes him less than two seconds to start composing ideas and memories._

" _Dearest Anna…"_

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you all very very much! I'd like to dedicate this chapter to AnnaMB fro such amazing reviews!

Next chapter: more coffee, a paper and friends.


	16. Chapter 16

_To Anna, with thoughts of many cups of coffee and shared conversations. John._

She couldn't read it back then, not in front of him. For a wild moment she had feared asking him to sign the book has been an open invitation for him to get wild and ask her on a date again. When she finally opened the book and saw the neatly written words, she refused to admit, even to herself, that she was a little disappointed.

Now, late at night, tucked in bed with just the light of a lonely lamp, she had reread the inscription several times, between the chapters of the story. It's not as nonchalant as it seemed at the beginning. She can't help but linger in every word. _Thoughts._ Not memories, not hopes. He certainly has a way with words. Or maybe she's just looking for things that are not there.

At last, though, she understands his initial reluctance about her reading the book. She had wasted no time to do so when she got back to her office and she was glad no student came to see her. It is a novel, maybe not what she had chosen initially, but she likes it. And then there is that character. It doesn't take a lot to figure out that's what John meant when he said there was something about him on the book.

The man is an alcoholic, too. And has a terrible relationship with a girlfriend he can't get away from. She finds herself skipping parts of the book, ignoring the other characters and focusing just on him. How much of this is real and how much of this just John's imagination? Would she have been able to realise it's partly him he's writing about, had she read the book before knowing he is an alcoholic? Anna cannot tell. And maybe there's some of him in the other characters, too, only what exactly?

Now she can't stop thinking about him. Again.

It will take her a lot of willpower to wait. To take her time with breakfast, and going back home or to her shared office in the university after leaving Jonah at the nursery. One very long week. She hopes it's enough; she doesn't want to be eager, but she is. All those cups of coffee and conversations. She has missed them very much.

And that's all she will think about. The only reason she allows herself to go back to the coffee house is that she has sworn to herself it's just about that: friendship, and a careful one at that. Nothing more.

This time she walks instead of driving, allowing herself to calm down, to think coolly, to stop her heart taking decisions she would certainly regret lately. She takes a deep breath when she reaches the shop. She wishes she could open the door silently and look at him before he'd look back at her, but those small golden bells tell on her.

Finally, Anna enters and looks around. He's not there and she feels a heavy weight on her stomach. It reminds her of the early days, when they had barely talked, and yet she had hoped he would be there.

Still, the coffee here is good. Much better than the one at the place she uses to go to now. And she could do with a muffin.

While she waits she forces her mind to think about something else. Work. Classes. The last paper she has read. The movie she went to see with Brian the week before.

"Black coffee, please."

Somehow, she has missed the sound of the little bells.

John is standing at the till, a small smile making the corners of his mouth twitch. He looks at her.

"Hello."

* * *

Before _that day_ , she used to be there every two days as clockwork. Which suited him nicely. Now she doesn't anymore and he's on edge every day he goes into the coffee house. Is she doing it on purpose to keep him like this? Or just because she's not that interested anymore?

Perhaps he should consider it's not really about him. Maybe she's just busier than before.

He both likes and dreads how unpredictable it all is.

One week she is there on Monday and on Wednesday. Then he won't see her for almost two weeks. Then she'll skip two days. He tries to keep track for a while but eventually he gives up and decides to expect nothing and just be happy whenever Anna is there.

At first, they barely talk. It's like a repetition of their first encounters. She will sit in front of him after getting her coffee and exchanging polite greetings. One of them would make some comment about something trivial later. He hates it when silence stretches and he feels it has to be him. _Twenty minutes and not a word. Thirty minutes. I have to say something, now._ He always feels as if he's interrupting her, even though she smiles when he speaks. And yet he cannot help it, he really likes hearing her voice. When she speaks first, though, he feels it's going to be a great day no matter what. It may be just a couple of words, just a silly remark, maybe just talking about the weather, but the fact that she chooses to speak with him again is a very old dream coming true again.

Like today. Today she has brought three books and piled them on the table, and before he can think about something meaningful to say, she starts commenting on one of them and how she dislikes the author. And then about an upcoming conference she is going to attend. She hasn't talked this much since… since before.

"... I thought I'd give it a go. It has a lot to do with what I've been researching lately. Only, I never thought that abstract would be accepted." She drops her shoulders, even though she is smiling. Actually it's more like a grimace. "And now I'm stuck with having to actually write the paper."

"But I don't understand why you are so worried. Haven't you submit papers before? When you were doing your PhD?"

She shrugs. "I did, once or twice. But that's a while ago, and it was for small conferences. This thing is international, that paper could get published."

"That's great!" He is beaming and can't help feeling proud. On top of that, and for the first time in what feels like the longest period in his life, he is feeling comfortable with her.

"Yes, yes it is. If the paper gets accepted. Which brings me to actually having to write it… which brings me back my book." She takes the pencil she has nailed on her bun a moment ago and opens the book again. John can see it's heavily underlined, with many annotations in the margins.

"I'll be quiet, then." He says, and she smiles before fixing her gaze on the page.

He can't help but glance at her a moment later. Her eyes are not moving and she seems to be miles away. He doesn't know if he should interrupt her to ask what's the matter or not.

Finally she sighs and he looks at her.

"Could you…?" She starts, placing her elbows on her knees and he chin on her hands. "I know you have your own things to worry about, but would you mind reading the thing? Once I finish writing it?"

"Of course," he says. "Only, I don't think I'll understand most of it."

She chuckles. "It's not rocket science, really. And you know loads about many things. And even if you don't really get it all, it's mostly about grammar. If I'm saying things right, or using the proper tenses… that sort of thing."

John pretends to be thinking about it. "So, basically, you'd be using me."

Anna blinks a couple of times, confused, until something gives him away and she smiles. "I wouldn't call it 'using' you. What about hiring your services?"

"Ah." He says, looking at his book and then at hers, and thoroughly enjoying the exchange. "I'm very expensive, you see." he can't help but remember that time when she offered Jonah as a cure for his insomnia. Does she remember it too?

"I was afraid you would be, you're brilliant."

"And that sort of lip service won't get you a discount."

She finally laughs. "All right. What about I pay for your coffee for a week?"

He can't believe this is actually happening. Would that mean the chance to actually see her so often?

"And a cookie." He says, just to play along. "Only, I don't come here every day."

"Right. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays…" he is surprised she remembers, although it's not exactly difficult to do so. She is doing some thinking of her own, or at least, playing along. "All right. Two coffees and one cookie for each of those days, delivered to your table by yours truly."

He has to laugh at this, feeling elated at the prospect. "You've gotten yourself a deal, Miss Smith," he says, offering her his open right hand.

She doubts for a split second and then he can finally feel that soft skin against his.

"Thanks, Mr Bates."

* * *

The kids are finally asleep, and Anna takes a deep breath as she sits on the kitchen table, a glass of white wine on her hand. Jane smiles and takes a sip from her own glass.

"It's been a while," she comments, her eyes shut and a smile playing on her lips.

Anna nods. "I really love it when you guys stay over."

"Only now there is a fellow entertaining you," her friend's eyes twinkle. She chuckles.

"Don't be silly."

"But there is."

"I still like it better with you guys. Besides, he doesn't… stay over. Not yet, at least. But yes, we seem to go out a lot, don't we?"

"Darling, you're a couple now. That's what couples do."

Indeed. And she doesn't get too many dates, always having to call for Jane or a babysitter to stay with Jonah. With Brian it's mostly quick lunches between their schedules.

Now she is really enjoying the quiet time with her friend, both wearing pajamas and working their way through a bottle of wine. For Anna it means just being herself for a moment.

"So, how's that paper coming out."

"Good," Anna says, and she is being honest.

"Really? That's great! See? I told you you'd start to flow once you get started."

"And you were right… plus, I've got some help."

"Really? Not that old curmudgeon from your department?"

"What? Of course not! No, I got… well, John is helping me with the writing." She can't look at Jane when she says this. She can't help but feel a little guilty, almost as if she was confessing some mischief.

Jane looks puzzled for a moment. "John…?" Then she opens her eyes wide. "Drunk John?"

"Don't call him that," Anna says good natured.

"Excuse me, but weren't you the one who called him _that_ precisely. And never mind how I call him. I thought you were not in touch with him anymore."

"Well…" She plays with some crumbs on the table. "We sort of… well, he sent me a text some months ago. About his being sober, and going to AA meetings. He just wanted to thank me," she adds as Jane opens her mouth to say something. "Apparently something I said made him think about rehab."

"But he's still an alcoholic."

"I know that. But why should that stop us to have coffee sometimes? And a chat or two?"

Jane sighs and fills her almost empty glass again. "Listen, honey." Anna braces herself. There was a reason she didn't talk to Jane about John before, even though she wouldn't admit it. And she senses it coming. "What if he gets drunk again? What if he comes looking for you? Or if he attacks you, or Jonah?"

She knows. She's always known there is a risk. And yet, "I don't think it'll be like that. It's different this time."

"How so?"

Anna sighs. "Well, for starters, we're not doing anything even remotely romantic. No outings, or talking about personal stuff, or anything of the sort. He knows I won't have it. he knows I'm seeing Brian now. And we're sticking to the coffee house."

"So? What are you after?"

"We're just friends. Isn't it possible to have a friend that's a man?"

Jane sighs and looks at her wine for a moment. "I really don't know."

"Well, I think it is. And I think we're proving it's possible." It sounds somewhat childishly stubborn, even to her own ears, but she really believes it.

It's difficult to read her friend's expression. Concern, pity. Slowly Jane reaches her hand to pat Anna's. "I just don't want you hurt the way you were that time."

She understands. If Jane were in her place, she'd be equally worried.

* * *

John is grateful to see the black car outside the meeting hall. He always is. Sometimes those meetings can be depressing or tiresome, and Robert agreed, on that very first time, to pick him up afterwards, just in case.

From the inside of the car his friend waves at him through the open window and he gets inside.

"So, how was it?"

John shrugs. "I thought about bringing you a souvenir?"

"Really? What?"

"Some of that coffee."

"Oh thanks, very thoughtful." Robert grimaces. "Call me ungrateful, but I would've made you throw it away."

John laughs.

"You seem to be in a fine mood today? Was it stand-up comedy night at the AA meeting?"

"Not really. Actually that cat lady, Josephine, started crying for no apparent reason in the middle of it."

"Nice." Robert grimaces sympathetically.

It's tiresome sometimes. And more than once John has asked himself why does he keep coming to the meetings. He feels he could manage to stay off alcohol on his own, but then, he can't be sure. And these people, crazy as half of them seem to be, are helpful. Almost unconsciously he puts his hand in his pocket and touches the new chip. He got that one two weeks ago. A very much expected number 6 on it.

"Doesn't explain why are you looking so cheerful, though."

"Am I?"

As a response, Robert rolls his eyes at him. John is forced to consider. Is he being so transparent, really?

"Well, I'm helping a friend with an article. And that is keeping me busy. It might be it."

"An AA friend?"

"No, not them." John stays silent for a moment, but he knows Robert is going to keep on enquiring until he gets satisfied with his answers. "Do you remember Anna?"

"Anna? The girl from the coffee house? The one that gave you the idea to go to these meetings in the first place? How could I forget her!" Robert looks at the road ahead and a second later the glances at John. "Wait, are you still seeing her?"

John shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant. "We meet at the coffee house from time to time."

Robert doesn't answer, he's frowning slightly, looking at the traffic ahead of them.

"Anyway, she's writing an article and I'm helping her out a bit. Which is interesting." Why does he feel the need to clarify this, he has no idea. To stop himself from babbling any further he looks out the window.

"I don't know," Robert finally says.

John stares at him. "What is it you don't know."

It seems his friend is struggling with words. "Maybe I'm being stupid."

"And maybe you're not. Out with it, Rob."

Still it takes Robert some time to speak again. "That girl, Anna. You're not together again, are you?"

"No. She made it very clear we were not going back. It's just coffee and talking."

Robert nods. "It's just I'm worried, mate."

"About what?"

"About your recovery depending on her."

"What?" Now that's an angle of the situation John hasn't considered before.

It's not entirely far-fetched, though.

"What if she disappears? Or starts dating somebody else-?"

"She already is," he can't help feeling rage every time he things about this unknown man who gets to hold Anna's hand and kiss her and-

"See? There you go. What I mean is… are you going to give it all up and go back to whiskey if she goes away?"

The easiest answer is an indignant 'no', but he and Robert have gone through so much together, there is no point on trying to deceive him.

Now it's John the one struggling with words. "She makes it easier. To keep my resolve. But… I don't think I depend on her, no."

Robert grunts. "I hope you're right."

"She makes my days a little brighter, that's all."

* * *

She is a little sad and very nervous the day the paper is due. It has been very fun to work on it with John. The way he would question words that seemed perfectly all right to her, or his suggestions on different ways to say things made her marvel. As if words had a dimension on its own he knows about; and he is willing to show that dimension to her, too.

Anna wants to thank him, and not just with cup of coffee. She wants to make something special for him. And yet, she doesn't want to be misunderstood or to get too close.

She smiles at the thought. Too close, indeed.

At some point, while discussing an idea she wasn't very sure how to convey, she forgot all about their own story and she sat down next to him, taking her computer with him. If he had thought anything about it, he didn't show. And she was completely wrapped out in her explanations to really care until his knee bumped against hers, ever so slightly. And then she run for it.

Well, not literally, but she has the feeling she almost jumped to occupy the seat in front of him again.

The memory gives her an idea, though, and she smiles as she puts it in practice. Yes, thoughtful, but not too much.

She forces herself to wait, though, even if the anticipation is great. She has to do this, to keep a distance, for his own sake. He hasn't say a thing or given a signal that he is still interested. Nothing. But still she doesn't want him to be, there shouldn't be doubts.

One week after their last encounter she can't find any more reasons, real or imaginary, to keep her away. He is already there, sipping on his coffee, focused on a book. And yet, at the sound of the little bells he looks up and smiles at her.

She gets her coffee and sits, and he can barely wait before asking. "Well?"

"Well?"

He rolls his eyes. "Did you submit it?"

She feigns shock. "Shoot! I forgot! I knew there was something…"

His jaw drops. And then he laughs. "Yeah, right!"

She has to join him. "Of course I submitted it, silly. They'll let me know in six weeks or sooner."

"That long?"

"Yes," she sighs in resignation.

"Oh well. We'll just have to wait." He shrugs, and his eyes are on his book again.

"I have something for you. To thank you." She says, looking inside her bag for the white envelope. "Here."

He looks at it, frowning slightly, without reaching out to take it. "I hope this isn't money."

"Of course not!" She shakes her head with energy.

Finally he takes it. "Tickets?" He takes the two pieces of thick paper out.

"For the theatre." She is suddenly eager. "That play has nice reviews."

He looks at her, smiling. "You shouldn't have."

"Nonsense."

"Thanks, really."

She suddenly feels self-conscious. After smiling at him again, she opens her book. They don't talk anymore until she has to go, more than one hour later.

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you all very very much for sticking with this story!


	17. Chapter 17

_Her phone rings and she startles. He won't call her, surely. Still it is with some trepidation that she takes it from the table._

 _She shouldn't have worried._

" _Hi, Jane. Everything all right?" Background noises at the other end suggest Jonah might be watching cartoons._

" _Fine, but he wants to talk to you."_

" _Of course." There is some scrambling._

" _Mum?"_

" _Hi, sweetie. What's going on?"_

" _Jane says I have to wear a tie. Why?"_

 _Anna chuckles. "Because you'll look very nice in it. Remember we bought it? And you liked it?"_

" _Yeah…" he doesn't sound very convinced. "Nobody wears one in school."_

" _We're not going to school, today."_

" _Hmm. Wait, Freddie wants to talk to you."_

 _Anna smiles. "Hey, Anna. Don't worry, he'll wear it or else!" She hears a cry and a giggle and after a moment Jane's back._

" _Sorry about that. He just wanted to talk to you."_

" _That's all right."_

" _Are you? All right?"_

 _She can't help but beam. "Perfect."_

* * *

 **AN** : Thanks very much for reading and sorry for the delay!

Next chapter: a concert, the big question and one decision to be made.


	18. Chapter 18

This time she doesn't even ask him. Not after the theatre fiasco.

"Do you want to go to the theatre? Really?" Brian asked, as if Anna had suggested going to the moon after dinner.

"Yeah. What's wrong with it?"

He sighed, leaving his fork on his almost empty plate. "Why don't we go to the movies instead?" He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started scrolling down.

"It's not the same."

"Exactly." He nodded, his gaze still on the small screen. After a moment he seemed to have felt her eloquent silence and looked up. "I... I don't know. Theatre seems so strange. Those people performing there, right in front of us. It makes me giggle."

Anna chortled, although she wasn't really sure it was funny. "Really?"

Brian nodded again. "So, which movie?"

This time she just phones Jane, and her friend manages to get her parents take care of Freddie and Jonah. If regular theatre would make Brian giggle and feel awkward, she doesn't want to think about what his take on chamber music is. Nonetheless, she tells him that she will go out with Jane some days before.

"A wild girl's night out?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "Should I be worried?"

Anna smiles. "If you want. We're going to a concert. Classical music."

"Really?" Brian laughs. "Why?"

It's exactly like Anna imagined.

She doesn't really mind. Actually, she might even have gone on her own if Jane had said not.

It's a string quartet and the selection is a good one. At first she can't stop looking at the performers, but after a while, Anna closes her eyes and allows herself to get lost in the melodies. She should do this kind of thing more often.

During the interlude, Jane proposes to go out to the foyer for a cup of coffee. There is a long line, and it takes them a while to finally get two paper cups. Jane is in the middle of telling Anna about a message she just got from her mother saying everything was fine, when Anna saw him.

"What?"

She just beams, and right then he looks at her and smiles too.

"That's John." She points at Jane's back, who turns around so fast the coffee almost spills.

"Drunk John?"

"Shh, he's going to hear you!" The chatter is loud all round them, fortunately.

He walks closer, his hands on his pockets. Anna notices this is the first time she sees him in a suit. It's not exactly an eyesore.

"Hello, Anna! Fancy seeing you here!"

"Hi, John." She doesn't know why but her cheeks feel hot. "This is Jane."

"Hello."

"Oh! You're the famous Jane. Very nice to meet you."

She chuckles despite herself, Anna notices.

"Famous, am I?"

"Anna talks about you a lot."

Jane only smiles and Anna is glad she didn't say something in the lines of "I could say the same thing."

"Are you enjoying the concert?" He speaks again.

"Very much." Anna nods. "I'm glad we could make it."

He looks around. "So, if you two are here, who's taking care of Jonah?"

Something very warm spreads inside Anna; she feels strangely touched. As Jane explains logistics she just considers how John seems to be always thinking one step ahead. And she can't help but think how Brian didn't ever ask that question when she told him she and Jane were going out.

The call for the end of the interlude takes her off her reverie.

"We should get back to our seats," Jane says.

John nods. "Would you ladies let me invite you some decent coffee afterwards?"

Anna smiles and shakes what's left on her paper cup. "Not impressed?"

"Are you?"

"Not in the sightless." She looks at Jane. "Will we have time?" She knows they will. They have planned to go for a bite afterwards. But she won't say yes unless Jane wants to.

"I think we will," she nods, and Anna feels happier than she should.

"Do we meet right here at the end, then?" John asks.

The rest of the concert passes in a blur and Anna is slightly nervous although every few minutes she tries to convince herself there is no reason for that. John is just a friend, despite the past; Jane is her best friend. It's only natural they should meet and it's probably going to be pleasant enough.

It turns out it's more than that. Despite Jane's initial doubts about Anna meeting with John again, even if just in the coffee house, she behaves her usual cheerful self. John is charming as ever. For a wild moment Anna thinks they could make a good couple, but the sole idea is not very pleasant. Actually it's terrible. It's silly, and very selfish, but she doesn't like to think about him kissing another woman, even if she doesn't want him kissing her either.

She really isn't making sense at all.

On their way to Jane's parents, after what turned out being coffee and appetizers, Anna can't help but question Jane.

"So, what's the verdict?"

"He doesn't look like an alcoholic." Jane says after a moment of consideration.

"Not all of them look like hobos, you know."

Jane just looks out the window, silent for a moment.

Anna looks out too. It's starting to rain. She wonders if John would go back home right now, and what sort of home does he have.

"I can see why you fell for him," Jane finally says.

Anna wasn't expecting this.

"That was a long time ago."

Jane chuckles. "Not long enough if you still blush in front of him."

"What? No, he just caught me off guard, that's all."

"Aha."

Silence falls again. Now Anna refuses thinking about him. She just has to take her brain to another direction. The road. The fact that she has to pick up Jonah and take him home without waking him up, preferably.

"He's very nice. That's what I want to say." Jane speaks again.

"I know."

The next day Brian comes over for lunch. She almost forgot and the doorbell startles her. It's lucky she's not wearing her pyjamas.

"Hi," he says before kissing her. She can feel he wants to make it long and deep, but she turns around. She's not in the mood but cannot tell exactly why.

Jonah runs by and yells a quick "'ello" before disappearing back into his room. Anna hopes he'd stay there for a while.

"How was your night?" She asks, feeling slightly guilty.

"Oh, it was good. Had a couple of pints with the lads. You won't believe what Lou was telling about his boss. You know he's working on this new company in the city and there is this woman in charge of his area-"

"Don't you want to know how my night was?" She interrupts her. Guilt forgotten, she's suddenly exasperated. Angry, almost.

"Sure, how was it?" He sits on the living room couch and takes the remote, although he doesn't turn the telly on.

"It was very good actually."

He snorts. "I find that difficult to believe, but suit yourself. So, Lou. This woman is her boss, right? And she's always asking him to do this weird-"

"Do you know who took care of Jonah last night?"

This time Brian frowns. "What? Why should I know-?"

"Well, you know Jane usually takes care of him. And you know I was out with her last night. Weren't you at least a little curious about who'd take care of my son in the meantime?"

Brian sighs. "It didn't occur to me."

"Of course." Anna says, and turns around.

"Wait, babe."

She decides right then she doesn't really like to be called 'babe'. "What?"

"What is this about, really?"

"I don't know. You could've offered to take care of Jonah last night."

He looks at her for a moment. "Didn't occur to me."

"I noticed."

"Are you angry because of that? You got him a sitter, didn't you? What's the matter?"

Anna rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Of course I got him a sitter. Jane got her parents to take care of her son and Jonah. That's not the point!"

"What's the point, then?" He looks angry now, too. "Enlighten me, because right now I'm drawing a blank here."

"The point is…" she sighs. She really can't put her finger on it. "It's as if you don't really care."

"Of course I care! Just because I didn't ask about your kid doesn't mean-"

"It's not that!"

"Then?"

"Then… what have I been working on one month ago?"

"Something for your classes, right? Art stuff?"

She rolls her eyes. "It was a paper. For an international symposium."

"I know that. You told me."

"And you remembered," her voice is heavy with sarcasm.

He scratches his chin and sighs.

Anna sighs, too. "Brian. I don't think lunch today is a good idea. I'm sorry, I'm having a lot on my plate right now."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." He walks to the door and takes his jacket. "Call me when you calm down, all right?"

Anna has to mentally count until ten to stop her snapping at him again. By the time she is finished, he is gone and she is relieved.

Steps come down the corridor, and Jonah appears, carrying a wooden truck. "Brian?"

"He's gone home, sweetie." Jonah just nods and turns around. "Jonah?" Anna calls him back. "What about McDonald's for lunch?"

The kid jumps into the air. "Yeah!"

"Go grab your shoes and jacket, then. Mummy will be back in a minute."

As Jonah runs away, Anna grabs her phone and almost runs inside the bathroom.

It takes Jane just one ring to answer. "Hi, what's happening?"

"Jane?"

"Anna, what is it?"

"I think I might still have some slight feelings for John."

There is silence on the other side of the line.

"That, my dear, is the understatement of the century. The big question is what are you going to do about it?"

And that big question will bounce inside her head for the entire weekend.

She's not being fair, or kind, with him or herself. Wanting to be her friend… what if she's still giving him the wrong message? Just as she still has feelings for him, what if he has feelings for her, too, and this is just a very painful way of being together without actually doing so?

It's just too much. She enjoys being with him. And he enjoys it, too. But it's not just that. The fact is that even though she could have sworn otherwise, she couldn't help to wish he'd ask her to go to the theatre with him, that time she gave him the tickets. And afterwards she couldn't stop thinking about who he might have taken.

But she can't have it both ways. She has to decide if she wants to be with him or no, with all the consequences that might carry not just for her but for Jonah as well.

No. She can't do that. She just can't repeat her own history.

And she can't be cruel to John either.

When Brian shows up at her office on Monday afternoon with flowers and plans for having dinner together, she is almost relieved and the kiss she gives him shows it. It's a matter of having her priorities straight. She doesn't just need somebody she fancies; she needs some stability, somebody reliable.

That day she doesn't go to the coffee house, or the next Wednesday, or two days after that. She avoids it for two weeks. And then Christmas is all over and there are plans to be made and presents and just general cheerfulness to keep her busy. She feels sorry, and guilty, and she misses him, but she tells herself its better like this. If she wants to spare his feelings she has to keep her distance.

Only, it's difficult. And feels all sorts of wrong.

She is driving to Jane's on Christmas Day when the text message arrives. She knows she shouldn't but she can't help to take a glimpse at the screen. _He_ is the one who sent it.

She should wait, or maybe not even open it, but instead she parks and taps on the screen.

 _A very merry Christmas to you and Jonah. I hope you're having a great time!_

And then, a picture. And it's so silly Anna laughs, but there are also tears in her eyes. It's just a muffin wearing a Father Christmas' little hat.

"Look, Jonah!" she passes her phone to the kid.

He laughs, pointing at the screen. "Chris'mas muffin!"

And Anna really has no idea of what to do. Except writing him back. She knows she'll be at the coffee shop the next Monday, and she knows it won't feel as wrong as it feels not being there.

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you all very very much! **  
**


	19. Chapter 19

… _it's a very strange thing, hope. Sometimes you can't help but have it._

 _I've spent most of my life trying to get rid of it. It is a silly emotion, designed to make us avoid facing reality as it is. But somehow it would always come back. Hope that you'd be at the coffee house next Monday. Hope that the seat in front of you will be empty so I could take it. Hope that you'd talk to me. Hope that you'd let me into your life. Hope that you'd never stop being part of mine._

 _And the fact is that, despite all the facts and harsh reality, it seems as if my future is being built on hopes. How silly is that? And yet, I can't help but think it feels right, my darling._

He sighs and smiles at his own words and at the fact that they are true.

* * *

 **AN:** Next chapter: temptations, all sorts of temptations.


	20. Chapter 20

She shivers under his hands. He cups her face and there is strength in them, and not a hint of doubt. She can see in his eyes he wants this as much as she does. The tip of his thumb caresses her lips, it's a little rough and she doesn't mind. As his hand slides down her neck and his other one presses her lower back, she moans.

His body is hot and firm against hers. She wants to feel it all, to be touched like no-one has touched her before.

His finger strokes her lips again and she opens her mouth. "Kiss me, John."

He obliges. It's exciting, urgent. His lips explore hers and move down her neck, accompanied by his hand. She feels her pulse quickened. He tightens his hold on her back and moves his hand lower. Tracing paths, squeezing.

Anna can't help but moan again.

She gasps and opens her eyes. The room is dark and she is quite alone.

Her heart thumps madly and her breathing is fast. She doesn't need to touch herself to feel the heat and moist.

She looks at the clock on her night-stand. 4.47. Her eyes rest on the thing next to it. A book. His book.

She bought his second book the day before and couldn't put it down. Right before going to bed, she found something unexpected. The description of a lovers encounter. This is not the first time she could not help but wonder how much of this man was depicted in his books.

Because if that description is an indication...

Anna sighs and turns in her bed, her back to the book.

She is still trembling slightly. Making an effort she tries to recreate the dream. Every touch, every emotion. He had not said a thing but it was him all right. No doubt. Anna shivers again. She wouldn't mind in the slightest having that dream again.

* * *

John can't help but consider all those times after AA that Robert has come to pick him up, even when there was no real need. It is to keep him company if he happens to be especially vulnerable.

How come none of them thought about this moment being much more urgent, is anybody's guess.

Across the table Vera sneers, and her lawyer talks mechanically about shared property and halves. At John's side, Murray takes notes. For a wild moment he considers on agreeing, to all of it, just so he would never be forced to sit in this room again, in front of this woman.

There is one single thing he won't agree, though, and it's the one single thing Vera wants the most.

"The royalties of my books are out of the question," he says firmly, before Murray has the chance to speak. And then he won't say another word, but stare at his cup of coffee and wish it was stronger.

Vera says something he is sure is aimed at him, but he can't focus on it anymore. After some more very long minutes the meeting is over.

He ignores Vera's good-byes and Murray's even monologue, until finally something snaps.

"Five years not living together," John says. "They are over, you have the proof, why can't we use that?"

"We could..." the lawyer says, not sounding convinced.

"Then why aren't we doing that?"

"Mr Bates, please, let me do my work." John rust rolls his eyes. "I'll call you as soon as we fix a date, or if there are news to report. Good bye."

"Good bye, Mr Murray," John answers automatically, but his mind is somewhere else already.

No, he can't believe this has to take this long, he can't believe he's being forced to keep on listening to Vera's absurd demands. It just doesn't make any sense.

He feels tired, worn out. Lonely.

After walking aimlessly for several minutes, John finally looks up. It seems as if his feet had plans of their own. Right across the busy street, the pub is open, and looks inviting. He could do that. A public place will ensure he doesn't lose control, he will have to behave. Just one drop and it'll be it.

Of course not, he shakes his head. He knows it won't be just a drop. How many times he has repeated that lie to himself over the years?

No, he needs to stop. Turning around with decision, John heads to the corner and hails a taxi. It takes him a while to get one, and it's excruciating, but he just needs to get inside and away, and everything will be better. In the meantime he takes his mobile and dials the number. Nothing. Not an answer.

"Where d'you want to go?"

John doesn't really know. Robert's maybe. Only, if he's not picking up his phone, he must be busy, and probably away. And if there is a house in Britain with a decent bar, that's Robert's. The thought is alluring. He could go there, get just a tiny glass, no-one would notice-

"Sir?"

"Er… yes…" At the last moment, he gives the driver his own address.

There isn't alcohol in his house. He has made sure of that. Not a single drop of whiskey, or beer… There is a store nearby, though. Maybe he could tell the driver to stop there and he could get something. Not much, of course. Just a little something to wash away the terrible feeling-

How curious it is that after all these months of keeping himself away from alcohol, all his excuses seem to come back as naturally as his last day drunk?

He can't. With slightly trembling hands he fishes his latest chip out of his pocket. 9 months. Is it worth it? To throw all his efforts away just because of Vera? Wouldn't that give her something extra to gloat about if she knew?

But that thought doesn't prevent him from feeling lonely. Empty. Unworthy.

Of course, he could call _her_. Not tell her what this is about, of course, but maybe just hearing her voice…

He remembers talking with Robert about this. Wouldn't this make him dependant of her? What if he already is?

As he thinks this, he scrolls down his phone and dials, before actually thinking of an excuse to explain why he is calling when he never calls.

The phone rings several times before the automatic message starts. He is almost glad and sad at the same time. He misses her, and he doesn't trust himself to stay sober until the next morning, even if he knew for sure that she would show up at the coffee house.

True, since Christmas she is there almost every two days. He thinks about that, as he has done before. Right after bumping with her and her friend at the concert she disappeared for a while. The longest time without going to the coffee house since he told her about AA. And after two weeks passed, he feared the worst. Had he said something wrong? Done something he shouldn't have? Maybe Jane told her to keep away from him, but why? As long as he knew he was keeping things strictly platonic, even if that went against his own wishes.

And then at Christmas he decided to risk his luck and she got back to him. He never asked; he was just relieved to have her in his life like this, even this way.

Distractedly he realises they've reached his flat. He pays, quickly, and runs inside before thoughts of going to the store assault him again. Still, he feels like a caged animal, pacing from one room to the other, turning the telly on and off. Playing some music and turning it off almost instantly.

Just to keep himself busy he turns on his computer. Maybe he could try to write. Maybe there is a deadline.

Nothing.

No new ideas, not even old bad ones. And not a single mail from his editor.

Distractedly he opens his browser. "Ways to stay off alcohol." It's probably the most stupid thing he's ever googled. And of course there are thousands of pages with silly answers. "Keep positive," "think about your life in perspective," "think about your loved ones."

All empty and useless when you're feeling as if you were burning inside, while cold and dead on the outside.

He keeps on thinking about her, almost as if the mere thought could be enough. He remembers that kiss. Her nose was red because of her cold, and her hands, warm. She had feared he would catch his cold. Now, so many months later and after everything that happened afterwards he can't remember if he did.

"Anna M. Smith"

His fingers type the name and he feels foolish but he presses enter nonetheless. There are many women with that name. He narrows it down with the name of the university, as he did that time when he came to the office to look for her.

"Assistant Professor." She got a promotion since, she never told him. Her office hours seem to be the same. He could go and look for her, later that day, but he feels it will be an intrusion. What they have, whatever it is, works because it only happens in a would-be casual way, inside the boundaries of the coffee house. If he breaks those boundaries, maybe she will disappear again. It's not worth risking it.

He stares at her picture. She is beaming and looking so young it is difficult to believe she is indeed a professor. Even though it's black and white, he can imagine the exact blue of her eyes.

The decision is right there and it depends on him, and him alone. He doesn't hope that they will be back together, not anymore. But he knows that, the moment she learns he drunk again, she will go away for good. She has grown used to him showing her the chips. There won't be a way to trick her.

And it's not worth it.

Just then, the phone rings. It's her and he panics for an instant.

"Hello."

"John?"

"Hi, Anna."

"I saw you call me. I was in a class. What is it?" There is surprise in her voice, and maybe a little fear? Maybe it's just his imagination.

"Sorry about that. It was a mistake."

"Oh."

"I hope I didn't interrupt your class?"

"No, not to worry. It was on silence."

"I'm relieved." He doesn't know what to say and apparently she is having the same problem. "Well," he finally manages. "I'll leave you to it. Sorry again."

"Don't worry, no harm done. See you tomorrow."

"Of course."

And just that does the trick. _See you tomorrow._ Just some hours. He grabs his old coffee pot and takes some time in pouring water and putting in some coffee.

This time, when he opens a new word document, words seem to flow out of his fingers.

* * *

As if she needed more signals, that call is it. She just can't do it anymore.

Deciding to do it does not make her feel better, quite the contrary, but it's something that has been delayed for too long, and it's not good for her or for him.

Instead of having dinner home, she suggests they go to a pub. Just a quick drink. Maybe he thinks there will be dinner afterwards. She knows there won't.

As she says good bye to Jonah, Jane wishes her good luck. "Call me if you need me to pick you up, all right? I'll put these two monsters in the car and we'll be there in a jiffy."

"Will do," Anna nods.

"Where you going, Mummy?" Jonah asks, probably sensing she is unusually nervous.

"Just to do something I don't really fancy doing. But I'll be back before you go to bed, all right?"

"All right," he says, waving at her.

When she goes to the pub he isn't there. Fashionably late is one thing, but he is almost half an hour late and that only makes her angry. That's better, surely.

"Hi, babe," Brian says, and bends down to kiss her. She moves just in time and he only manages a peck on her cheek. "Is everything all right?"

She sighs. "Please, have a sit. Are you having something?"

He looks around, confused. "Give me a moment; I'll get something at the bar. Do you want another one?" He points at her half full pint.

"No, I'm fine."

She looks at him as he goes. It's not difficult to remember why she started dating him at first. He is funny, clever, easy to be around and very good-looking. And she was not feeling her best after... She won't think about him now, though. This has to be about her and Brian.

"So, what's the matter?" he asks the moment he takes the seat in front of her.

Anna takes a deep sigh. "I really… I really think we should stop seeing each other."

He takes a large gulp of his beer. "Aha," he says. "May I know why?"

"Well… I'm really sorry, Brian. It's just… it doesn't feel like it did before… you know?"

"No, I don't. I thought we were doing great."

She has to stop herself to roll her eyes, suddenly exasperated. "That's the thing," she says. "You didn't even notice we are not doing great anymore! We're spending less time together every week, and I don't call you nearly as much as I did before, is that supposed to be all right?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I just know I care about you. And your son," he adds. "But I won't beg. If you think this is it, then it'll be better for us to call it a night."

She is suddenly taken aback at this. The idea that this would be easy never crossed her mind. This wasn't exactly easy, no, but weird… yes.

"All right," she says slowly.

"All right, then." He drains his glass in one and stands up. "Bye, Anna."

"Bye."

He walks two steps and then turns around. "Is there anybody else?"

The question takes her by surprise. "Of course not," she answers, but it feels untrue.

He just nods and goes.

But the question seems to stay behind, lingering between them. And she knows exactly what it was that made her finally break up with Brian. That call. That mistaken call he made two days before.

It never occurred to her it was a mistake. She thought, for a minute, he wanted to talk to her. And how absurdly happy she felt because of that decided it. It was unfair to Brian for her to feel so excited about another man calling her.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks very much and a happy Monday!


	21. Chapter 21

She is almost ready, and that's slightly unsettling. Her taxi won't be there for another twenty minutes and she really doesn't know what to do with the time.

Maybe she could call Jane again. No, that would only make her friend anxious, and she is already dealing with a child that doesn't want to wear a tie and her own teenage son.

Distractedly, she scrolls down her list of contacts in her mobile.

She shouldn't. She told him they wouldn't talk before meeting.

But, as so many times before, when it comes to him, the temptation to break the rules is just too strong.

Besides, it won't be a call.

 _Hello._ She texts quickly.

His answer comes almost instantly.

 _You're cheating._

She chuckles.

 _You're not stopping me._

 _Well… you know I can't resist you._

She can't help but beaming. This time her finger hovers for a moment before writing again.

 _See you in a bit?_

 _Wouldn't miss it for the world._

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you all for your kind reviews and fav's!

Next: A celebration and some rule-breaking.


	22. Chapter 22

It feels silly, but he is proud again. Prouder than he has been in a while. This new achievement is significant. The fact that it comes mere weeks after settling an agreement for the divorce only makes it all the more sweeter. He is in such a good mood he could almost forget all those long, tiresome meetings and the many fat checks sent to his lawyer.

And it's just lucky that today is one of the days they meet at the coffee house.

He waves the moment she enters. He knows he must look eager, but for once he doesn't care. She leaves her bag and book on the table and he stops her before she heads to the till.

"Please, let me offer you this one."

"How come?" She looks confused.

"I'm feeling oddly generous today."

She just sniggers and after a moment he is back with her coffee and a second one for him.

He beams at her and she raises her eyebrows.

"What?"

"What what?"

"There is something about you today, John Bates. I wish you'd come out with it."

His smile grows even wider.

His eyes fixed on hers, he searches inside his pocket until his fingers touch the cold metal. Metal, not plastic. He takes the chip and gives it to her.

"Wow." She sighs, turning it around in her fingers. "This one looks very serious? Wait. One year? Has it been one year already?"

He nods. "Yep."

She looks confused. "So fast…"

"Not fast enough," he replies.

"Wow," she says again. "And is it like a ceremony or something? Like graduating?"

He chuckles. "Not at all. Just a round of applause. You know how they are like, 'you're never cured' and all that. If something, they are scared I might want to go celebrate the wrong way."

She nods, lost in thought, and then she smiles. "Let's celebrate then. The right way. Let me invite you to dinner."

His heart seems to do a funny jump. After all this time, and the careful distance solidly build between them...

"Really?" This shouldn't mean anything, though. He shouldn't let it mean nothing more than what it is. Dinner.

"Yeah! We should mark the occasion, right? Something special?"

"I'd like that. Very much."

And he won't be able to think about anything else for the days to come. He'll tell himself over and over that he shouldn't read into this. That she is just being friendly or maybe that she feels she has some say in the matter since she was the one who made him go there to begin with. For the first time after so many months, though, he can't help but hope and that's absurd. He knows nothing will ever come out of hope.

They meet at the restaurant. He knows that the gentlemanly thing to do would have been for him to pick her up, but he still has no idea if there is a change of rules. And he keeps on repeating to himself there is no use to hope.

"You should go out again," Robert had said just a fortnight ago. "I can introduce you to a colleague, or maybe one of Cora's friends."

"Yeah, I probably should," he replied, unable to take the image of Anna out of his mind.

"Mate, you know nothing is coming out from that girl at the coffee house." His friend said, as if he had read his mind. "You're just wasting your time there."

"I know." And he does. "I don't expect anything from it."

"Then let's find you someone to fill your time, all right?"

John nodded then, convinced for a fleeting moment that Robert was right.

Now, though, he wonders if something has changed and, if so, how. But he mustn't. It's just friendly dinner and that should be enough.

Anna isn't there when he arrives, and the bar in the lounge looks mildly inviting in comparison to the cold outside air. But he doesn't even want to get near it. He doesn't want her to see him near any of it.

Fortunately, he doesn't have to wait too long.

"What are you doing here, freezing?" She asks smiling.

"Thinking," he says. "And enjoying the cold, maybe."

They get a small table near a window and when the waiter asks if they want something to drink, she gets some juice. He wants to tell her that's not necessary, that she can have wine if she wants to, but again, he doesn't even want to say the word in front of her.

When the waiter arrives with their drinks, she raises her glass. "To one year," she smiles.

"To one long year," he nods.

"Worthwhile, though." There is a small crease between her eyes and he wants it to disappear.

"Most definitely," he hastens to say.

"Can I see it again, then?" She says as they wait for their dinner.

He obliges and put the chip on the table. She takes it in her fingers, carefully.

"It feels silly, really," he says apologetically. "It's just a piece of metal."

She rolls her eyes. "You know it's so much more than that. So, really, how difficult has it been?"

He takes a piece of bread and turns it in his fingers. He wants to be honest, but it's such a difficult question.

"I don't really know how to answer to that. Most of the days it's just… I don't really think about it."

"But sometimes you do."

He wishes he could give a different answer, but he won't lie to her.

"Sometimes I do. When I have a particularly difficult day, or sometimes even when I'm bored. Not frequently though."

"And what do you do?"

"They teach you some things. There are a number of activities I can do or places to go. And if that doesn't work, I should talk to somebody. Robert, a friend of mine, has that role. Whenever I feel that temptation is too strong I should call him and he should do something about it. So far it has only happened once."

"What did he do?"

"Took me to a soccer match. The team we were cheering lost, so I don't know how good it was."

She laughs and just then their orders arrive. Anna waits until the waiter is gone to speak again.

"And what happens if you can't reach him?"

"That has happened too." He doesn't know if he should elaborate.

"But you didn't drink."

"There's the chip. I haven't cheated." He smiles. "That time was a little difficult. But I started thinking about things, good things, that were so much better than getting lost for a moment." You, for example. "That got me through it. And then I started writing and forgot all about it."

"What are you writing now?"

"Another novel. You know, one of the things of this AA meetings is that I've heard so many different stories it would be idiotic not to get some inspiration out of them."

"Really? Then it's not just bad coffee."

"No. Not just bad coffee. Although they just won't improve in that department."

"Have you tried lecturing them?" Laughter dances in her eyes and he wishes they could banter all night long.

"Have I-? I can't tell you how many times. And I am starting to think the organisers resent me for that."

She laughs and he feels it's a personal achievement.

"So, have you heard about the paper? I've wanted to ask you for ages."

Her smile fades. "They didn't accept it."

"What?" He wasn't expecting it.

"Oh well, that journal was high impact and I'm just a rookie."

She has a point there, but he doesn't want her to give up that easily.

"What did they say? Did they give you any feedback?"

"Yes… I got three reviews. None of them think it's bad… only, not good enough. One of them even suggested I should send it to another journal."

"And have you?"

She takes a moment to answer. "Not really. I'm just, tired of the subject, I guess."

"Oh, come on! You can't let it get you down!"

"It's not that… well, it's a little of that. But then, maybe I was just too presumptuous. Maybe I just belong inside my classroom and maybe I should publish in the local journal. It's not a bad one."

"I refuse to believe that."

She smiles at him. "You are biased."

He chuckles. "I am. But still. Why don't you go through those reviews, take in their suggestions and present it again? To another journal if you want. I can help you."

"I… don't know."

"Do you know how many times my first novel was rejected?"

She shakes her head.

"Four."

"Four? Whatever kept you submitting it, then?"

"Stubbornness. And then my ex-wife used to mock me, saying I wouldn't do it. So that kept me going."

She laughs, albeit a little dryly. "You have something to thank her, then."

"That's a very bad way of looking at things."

She stays silent for a while and when she speaks again, it surprises him. "Ex-wife then? Is that divorce over?"

"Almost. Just some papers to sign and it'll be it."

"You must feel relieved."

"I do."

Anna nods to her plate and he wonders what she is thinking. "I broke up with Brian a couple of months ago."

She keeps her head down; he really wishes he could see her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says mechanically, although he is nothing but.

"Well, he wasn't the right one." She still refuses to meet his eyes, and he decides to concentrate in his plate too. If she were to look at him she would probably see elation, wild happiness, hope. And those are the wrong feelings, he is sure.

A moment later she starts talking about his second novel, and he is amazed she has read it. And a little self-conscious, too.

"I'm always wondering," she says after a moment, "how much of you is in it. Or in the other one."

That's a fine question. "I really couldn't tell you. Some of it might be quite obvious."

She nods, but doesn't say anything.

"Well, you know they say you should write about what you know. So I guess there's always a bit of me here and there. Why do you want to know?"

She shrugs. "I'm just curious, I guess. Sometimes I feel as if I'm talking to you through what you write."

He doesn't know what to answer. He doesn't know if that's a good thing or not. Fortunately, she changes the subject and he relaxes. It's not that he doesn't want to talk about his work. It's just that he feels… exposed. And he doesn't really like to be this exposed in front of her. He doesn't want to scare her and he is afraid she would be scared if she were to look too much into his feelings.

Worse of all, he knows he should make those feelings disappear altogether.

When the waiter brings the check she insists on paying. "I said I'll offer. And besides, it's in your honour."

"In that case you should allow me to repay it one day."

She smiles. "Let's wait until I have something to celebrate then."

He can't say if he's being turned down or not. "Are we talking about your paper?"

Her smile broadens. "Maybe. You've given me something to think about, I'll admit it."

* * *

This isn't the first time she has to give a big lecture, but she always feels a little nervous. She even enjoys that a bit, the butterflies in her stomach, the anticipation. Anna isn't expecting too many people to show up; it has been a day-long symposium and most of her colleagues and students are probably worn out. That is the downside of being the last lecturer.

Still, she doesn't mind.

Her presentation is already on display and the student in charge calls her to occupy her place at the table. She tries to manage a sure smile, while ignoring that now her palms are a tad sweaty. There is no place for it now.

The front row of the small auditorium is occupied by the heads of the art and design department. One of them is already looking at his watch, impatiently. She decides to ignore this; it isn't her fault they are not allowed to leave early. Out of curiosity she lets her eyes travel through the next rows. A couple of her students smile at her and she smiles back, some faculty members, and then, almost at the back- She has to make a double take. What is _he_ doing here?

The student signals her to start and she does, albeit a little distractedly at the beginning. A minute later, though, she finds her rhythm and her speech comes out more fluidly. Still, every minute or so, she can't help but look at him.

John seems to be hanging to her every word, his eyes fixed either on her or on the pictures displayed on the screen.

At some point he smiles at her, and she has to fight hard the urge to beam back at him. Really, what is he playing at?

When she finally reaches the end of her speech, she is greeted by some lukewarm applause, but she finds she doesn't really care about it. As her colleagues approach her to congratulate her and say her good-byes, she looks at him, standing by the doorway. Will he leave or will he wait for her? She can't be rude to the people around her, but there is the urge of leaving them and running to say hello to him before he goes.

She is relieved, though, when they eventually go.

"That was a very nice lecture," he has come to the front of the room as she is packing her things.

"What are you doing here?" she says smiling. She knows it's ridiculous, but she feels hot and somewhat shy.

"I get the university newsletter." He answers matter-of-factly. "And I happened to see your name there. Came to see what the fuzz was about."

"Did you now?"

"I really enjoyed it."

"Thanks."

He fidgets a little with his jacket. "So, what happens now? Are you expected to go to dinner with your colleagues?"

"Oh god, no. And I'm glad. We've been together for the whole day, we can't keep on looking at each other, and least of all discussing the topic any further."

He chuckles. "Then maybe you'd like to go to dinner with me? I do owe you a celebration." His smile falters a little. "That is, if your babysitter would allow it."

How strange there is that the butterflies are back. It's just John. She sees him every two days and talks to him, why does she have to feel suddenly nervous?

"Let me call her and see if she can stay a tad longer," she says, hoping very much she wouldn't mind.

* * *

"Here we are," he says, as he pulls over in front of her building. Is she imagining things or is his voice sounding sad all of a sudden.

"Thanks so much, John. I had a great time."

"I'm glad."

She opens the door slowly. She really doesn't want the night to end, but she can't think of reasons to stay in the car any longer. Just as she couldn't think of reasons to extend their dinner after they had ordered and finished their desserts.

"Let me walk you to your door," he says, and she can't help but feel some sort of anticipation. She shouldn't though. It's not her place to do so.

They walk the short distance in silence even though she racks her brains for something to say. If she could only make something out of the bundle of mixed feelings in her mind...

"This is it, then." She finally manages when they reach her door. She turns around to face him. She has climbed the front step and his eyes are almost leveled with hers.

"Have a good night."

"You too. And thanks, again."

"It was my pleasure."

"No really… I mean… Thanks for coming to the conference, too."

"I enjoyed it."

He is smiling, and she can't help it. Slowly, she touches his forearm and leans closer to place a kiss on his cheek.

The smell of his skin, the texture of it, his small gasp in surprise, all make her forget all about her promises to herself and the rules she has built so carefully over the months.

Her mouth moves, on her own accord, and now it's not his cheek but his lips she's kissing, and she's suddenly hungry for more. She notices it takes him a moment to react, but then his hands are on her waist and he's kissing her back and she could very well forget time and space in the texture of those lips.

Until she remembers. That stench. Those chips. The promises made to herself.

"I'm sorry-" She stutters, giving a step back. Her back collides with the door, but she barely registers it. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have-" Anna turns around and fumbles inside her bag, desperately looking for her keys. She needs to get inside, far away from him, she needs to think straight again.

"What-? Anna, don't-"

"I shouldn't have kissed you, John. I'm so sorry." The key is proving impossible to find and she wants to cry in frustration.

"Anna," he speaks so softly she stops moving. His hand is on hers, and gently he makes her turn around and let go of her bag. "Please don't go inside. Not yet."

"I shouldn't-" she stutters, but it's proving almost impossible to form a coherent sentence. He climbs up the step and now he's towering over her, both hands touching hers. She can't sum up the courage to meet his eyes, though.

"I know you think you shouldn't. I know you don't want this… a life with an alcoholic. I know, and I understand."

"It's not- you're not just that… and that's the problem."

He sighs. "And you like me."

She can't help but chuckle at the memory of Jane's words. "Like you. Well, that's a bit of an understatement."

One of his hands leaves hers to gently cup her face. She has to look at him now, and his eyes are so filled with emotion she is overwhelmed.

"I wish I could promise you I won't drink ever again. Oh, how I need to be able to promise you this. But I can't-"

"I know-"

"I will promise you this, though. I will try, with every fiber of my being, with every ounce of strength I have, every day, to be a man worthy of you. Because… Anna, I can't lose you. I just can't."

"But- but what if-?"

"I know there are things that can go wrong. But aren't there always? I'm asking a great deal from you, I can see that. But I think I can make you happy. You and Jonah." His hand is caressing her cheek and she can't help but lean at the contact. He makes it all sound so easy, so perfect.

"I think that too," she finally manages. "That's what scares me the most."

He sighs. "Don't be scared. Please."

He is so near she can feel his breath on her skin. "Don't ruin it, John. Because- because I can't lose you either."

"I won't."

And his lips touch hers again, and it feels right, much better than her dreams or memories. Yes, it also feels like jumping into the void, and it's so very scary, but maybe there is a chance for them to make it.

"Oh, Anna," he breathes into her lips and she has to look at him once more. "I-"

"Shh," she whispers, and kisses him back. Now that she has made her choice, she doesn't want to speak about it again. She feels his arms slowly move up her back and the warmth of her chest against hers, and she wonders why it took her this long to get to this point.

"I have to go," she finally says after what seems like no time at all. "The sitter will be wondering if I'd stood her up."

He chuckles, without losing his hold on her. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yes… would you-?" She feels bold asking, but then, there is no reason, really. "Would you come here, instead of meeting at the coffee house?"

He beams at her. "I'd love to." Finally he lets go but she wishes he didn't.

"Good night, John."

He bends down and kisses her lips once more. "Good night, Anna."

* * *

 **AN:** And here it is!

I'm so sorry it took me so long to post this chapter! (I haven't been feeling that well and sitting in front of a computer is proving difficult).

Thanks for all your support!


	23. Chapter 23

See you in a bit? _She wrote, as if they were making sure they'd reach the coffee house at the same time. As if they were agreeing on him picking up from the grocer on his way to get Jonah from the nursery._

 _As if this was not the most important day of his life._

Wouldn't miss it for the world. _He had texted back, and as a reply she had sent a smiley face._

 _It is still early, yes, but he can't stay put. Not now._

 _Checking his image one last time on the mirror, he moves his tie a fraction of an inch to the left. There, perfect. Or as good as it will get, anyway. Then he checks his inner pocket and smiles feeling the box inside._

 _He has to be absolutely sure, though, so he takes the box out and opens it. Yes. With a satisfied_ clack _he closes it and carefully puts it back in his pocket._

 _There is just one more thing he could do. With a brisk pace he walks out and down the stairs, and heads to the flower shop, two blocks away._

* * *

 **AN: Thank you all for your patience!**

 **Next: Some very serious rule-braking.**


	24. Chapter 24

His walk is almost a sprint, and he has to take deep breaths and check on the paper tray he's carrying. Some of the coffee has spilled a little and he doesn't want that to happen again, and not just because of his slightly burned hand.

The barista smirked when he asked for two coffees to go instead of one to slowly drink, sitting on his regular armchair. John imagined he knew, and he was happy for them. Hell, the whole world should be happy for them.

Finally he's there, at that front door. She was standing on the step and he had seen straight into her eyes. They had been close, so very close. And maybe they will be close now, again. He shakes his head a little; he doesn't want to hope again. He just needs her to set the pace. No pressure, no forcing anything, he doesn't want her to be scared.

He is too early, though. Her car is not parked outside; she isn't back from leaving Jonah at the nursery.

The coffee will be cold, he didn't thought of that when he bought it. He is trying to decide if he should wait outside for her to come, or if he should walk around the block, when he sees her car. She notices him immediately and beams, and his heart gives a funny jump. When she gets out, she is biting her lip, but the smile is still in place. He wants to run to her, but stays put. Don't push her, keep calm.

"Hello," he manages to sound almost nonchalant.

"Hi. Sorry I'm late."

"No problem. Everything all right?"

"Yeah… Jonah's teacher wanted to talk to me for a moment. He's fine though," she hastens to add, as he was about to ask if something was wrong.

Now he doesn't know what to say, or do. Every fibre of his body seems to urge him to reach for her, to touch her, but he is still unsure, and Anna isn't giving any clear signs. None that he could understand, at any rate.

"I brought you coffee," he hands him the paper cup. Black, no sugar. She takes a sip and smiles. "Sorry it's a bit cold."

"It's perfect." She takes another sip, this time longer, her eyes locked in his, and just to have something to do, he drinks some of his coffee too.

Anna fumbles inside her pocket and produces as keychain. Without another word, she opens the door, and motions him to follow her into the building. For a wild moment he imagines he can remember the last time he was there. He doesn't though, not properly. Just pieces of his terrible behaviour, and her telling him to go. This is most definitely not the time to think about it, any of it.

And finally they are there. That plain door. If she remembers, she doesn't show it, as she opens the door and motions him to the kitchen. The silence feels strange, but he has no idea what to do about it.

Finally she places her bag on the table and turns around to look at him.

"So…" her smile is shy, and her eyes won't look at his.

It is strange, indeed. And he feels a desperate urge to do something about it. Would it be too much? Too soon?

Slowly, he approaches her, leaving his cup of coffee on the table in passing. "How've you been?" he asks. It's a silly question. How many things could have happened since he left her the night before?

"Good," her smile broadens, and she takes a small step in his direction.

"Good," he echoes, and finally he's there, and his hand cups her face, slowly, his eyes not leaving hers.

She stands in tiptoes, and he finally kisses her. It's warm, soft, slow, and feels so much better than that other time, more than a year ago. Her lips barely touch his at first, but when he tries to deepen the kiss, he's more than happy to feel she is as eager as he is.

Now Anna's hands are on his back, pulling him towards her, and he hugs her, feeling her small body against his. The kiss grows urgent, Anna's tongue traces the contour of his lips, and he has to make an effort not to groan aloud. His mouth opens, inviting, and she makes the most of it. He feels lightheaded now, and she is suddenly pushing him until his back collides with the wall.

"Oh, Anna," he manages.

"John," she breathes, and her mouth moves to trail kisses down his neck. It's so perfect, and yet not nearly enough.

His hands grow bolder, and wander to her hips, her legs, and up to her back again, tracing paths, pressing the fabric, imagining the feeling of the soft skin underneath.

Suddenly she stops, panting slightly.

"What is it?" No, no, no, please don't stop, please don't think.

Her breathing is fast, and her eyes don't meet his, but look down at their shoes. He doesn't let go of her waist and she doesn't protest.

"Anna?" he tries again, and is infinitely relieved when he hears her chuckle.

"I'm sorry," she mutters.

"Whatever for?" he is scandalised.

"I'm," she finally looks at him, red cheeks and bright eyes, "I'm behaving like a crazy teenager. I don't know what came over me."

"Don't you want this?"

"Yes. I do."

With the tip of his fingers, he makes her look at him, and gives her a little kiss on the lips, making an effort not to linger. "Then, what's wrong?"

"I don't want you to think that I… I don't know… that I am desperate or something."

Now it's his turn to chuckle. "Darling, if somebody is desperate, that one might be me." This time both of them laugh, and John caresses her cheek. "Don't you want this?" he repeats in a whisper.

This time she just nods, and he kisses her again, properly. Her hesitancy becomes enthusiasm, and a moment later he feels her hands grabbing the lapels of his jacket. "Come with me," she mutters, her mouth never parting his, and he feels himself being pulled further into the flat.

It's hard to register the images hanging on the wall, or the texture of the carpet. Everything is a blur and the only tangible thing are her lips, and her hands possessively moving up his chest. She finally stops and out of the corner of his eye he sees a small room full with morning light, a bed and blue covers, a pillow. And he doesn't care anymore, because she is kissing his neck again, her mouth open, her tongue leaving goose bumps behind.

He groans again, and his hands take her hips pressing her body closer to his. She feels he's ready, he can tell, as she moves up and down against his body, slowly, deliberately. He hears himself groan, and take her mouth on his again.

Her hands run up his back, and down again, to fumble with his shirt. It's happening, he thinks, and barely dares to believe it. He takes a deep breath and her scent filling him is intoxicating.

XXXX

Anna can't think. She doesn't want to, she doesn't need to. This is hardly the first time she loses herself to her instincts, but this is the first time it feels so right.

John hugs her, his hand splayed on her back, and she feels his body warm and reassuring. It's not enough, and she tries to get rid of the many layers between them. He suddenly pauses, and she panics for a fraction of a second. Maybe she is too desperate.

"You are amazing," he groans against her temple, and his hands start working their way through the buttons of her blouse. He is slow, and she is sure this is some type of torture, one that she thoroughly enjoys. When there is just one button left, though, there is nothing slow in the way he dips his head and kisses her neck, low, lower, until he reaches the fabric of her bra. He stops, and before he can go any further, she starts undoing the buttons of his shirt. She is clumsy, her hands are trembling, and when he takes her ear in his lips, she almost pulls the rest of the buttons.

He is as impatient as she is, and with a quick movement, he takes off his shirt.

And now she hugs him, tight, and her skin takes in skin, hair, muscles, moving against her, getting ready.

He's taking off his pants, and then hers, and she is glad he's taking care of things, because she feels unable to anything but kiss him, and hold onto him. Only, he takes his time and it's the most exquisite, excruciating feeling, as he pushes the clothes slowly down her legs, caressing them in the process. She whimpers in anticipation, and is almost relieved when he gently pushes her until her legs touches the covers.

John's hands are on her waist, playing with her panties, and she can't take it anymore. When she sits on the bed, she hugs him, and his weight is too much for her. Both collapse, his body heavy, pressing her. With some effort, she undoes the clasp of her bra with one hand.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers hoarsely, and with slow moments he removes the fabric, brushing her breasts.

Once more, she pulls him towards her, and this time he kisses her chest, her neck, her shoulders.

"John," she moans, and he goes much faster. With urgency he removes their remaining undergarments, and with more kisses and caresses, he settles on top of her. Her legs slither around his waist, she needs him, and she doesn't care if he thinks she's too eager or too desperate. Not anymore.

When he finally enters her, she moans, and he mumbles her name, once and again. His thrusts are slow at first, and she feels heat and anticipation growing stronger inside her. He goes faster, and she meets him in every move. The intensity grows stronger and she gets so lost in it, she doesn't hear her own moan, followed shortly by his calling her name.

The next thing she knows, her knees are trembling, and he lies on top of her, his head buried on her neck, their breathing fast.

"God," he finally mutters, and she chuckles, but she's not sure why. He looks up, his hair dishevelled, and displaying a wicked smile she's never seen. "Are you all right?"

She sighs. "That was... wow." All right indeed, right in the right places.

"Same here," he rolls on his side, and she misses the weight of his body. Not for long. He reaches for her and hugs her, her back against his chest. "You are unbelievable."

"You're not bad yourself," she mumbles, and smiles when she feels his lips on the back of her head. She wants to say something meaningful, memorable, but his kisses are so very warm, and her hand caressing her shoulder is soothing. Anna falls asleep with a content sight, more relaxed than she has felt in a long while.

"Anna," he is whispering in her ear, and she is torn between enjoying his caresses a bit longer or opening her eyes to see him next to her. "Anna."

"Hmm?" She is covered now. At some point he must have thrown the sheets over them.

"Don't you have to pick up Jonah from the nursery?"

Her eyes are wide open. "What time is it?" She can't have slept so long.

"Almost eleven."

She sighs in relief and turns around to face him. "I have to pick him up at twelve."

"Oh," he smiles sheepishly. "I had no idea."

She kisses him softly. "I can't tell you what it means to me that you think about him."

"Of course I think about him." He says, and he's so close, she can feel his breath. It smells like coffee and something else that must come from their previous ministrations. "He's your life and anything that's important to you is important to me."

Words get caught in her throat, the emotion too strong, so she kisses him, softly first, and before she really thinks about it, her hands are exploring his body again, and he responds eagerly.

XXXX

"When am I seeing you again?" John asks, as he puts his pants back on at top speed.

She sighs, while buttoning her blouse. "I have classes this afternoon. And I don't think I can arrange a sitter for tonight..." Anna sounds disappointed. He is, too, but he understands. He considers offering to accompany her to pick up Jonah from the nursery, just to be with her for a little longer, but he knows she will refuse. She won't want him in Jonah's life. Not yet, at least.

"Tomorrow?"

She nods, as she puts on shoes. "I'll figure something out."

"Good."

They are ready, and their eyes lock. He can't stop himself, and reaches for her. This kiss can't be long, but he enjoys it, and the fact that he's now allowed to kiss her and touch her.

She grabs his jacket, and pulls, and he could forget about the world, only, "you're going to be late."

"Right," she chuckles, and both walk to the door.

"Let me know..." he says as they both exit the building.

"I will." At the bright light her eyes shine, and there is an impish smile he had rarely seen before. "I won't take long, promise."

He beams, and bends down to kiss her once more. "Bye, Anna."

"Bye, John."

* * *

 **AN:** Is there's still somebody out there reading this, thanks very very much and so sorry for the delay!


	25. Chapter 25

_She leaves her phone on the coffee table. It's getting harder and harder not to call him. If she had her way, she'd go to his flat to pick him up. Whose silly idea was it, that they shouldn't be together before the time was right? It was an idiotic idea, and it had been hers._

 _She sighs, and checks her appearance on the mirror next to her front door. She didn't take much in, because her eyes get distracted by his keys, lying on the small table. She remembers the day she gave them to him, and how vulnerable she had felt._

 _Was she being stupid? Naive? Reckless? Was she risking not just hers, but Jonah's safety for this?_

 _This._

 _This being him. The one who made everything fall into place._

 _How difficult it was, how difficult has it always been to wrap her mind around the idea that that drunken, almost violent person that came to her door that day and John are they are both the same man._

 _While, at the same time, trusting that the "other side" would never, ever, show up again._

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you all very very much.

Next: An accident and an opportunity.


	26. Chapter 26

During the weekdays, they meet in the morning, or during her lunch break, and sometimes they even steal a little moment between her finishing her classes and the time when she needs to pick up Jonah from Jane's.

The day after that first morning, they ate together at a small bistro near campus. The fact that they were so near, but unable to repeat any of what had happened in her flat was some sort of enjoyable torture. They talked, and they laughed, and Anna enjoyed the way his eyes shone the fact that he was enjoying himself. When they were approaching dessert, she felt bold enough, and with the tip of her shoe she traced the length of his leg under the table. His fork stopped mid-air, and a smile full of mischief appeared, stopping whatever he had been saying.

"You are a very naughty girl," John stated.

"What are you talking about?" she was sure she didn't look innocent at all, but she was enjoying trying.

It was indeed torture waiting to the next morning, when, once more, instead of going to the coffee house, they met at her flat.

She actually likes both scenarios. After all, she has always enjoyed talking to him and just being with him. And all this new aspect of their lives together, the mornings spent under her covers and all those new things they seem to have to talk about now make it all almost perfect.

"You are not reading as much as you did before," he states once. They are drinking coffee at her place, now fully dressed; she will have to go to class soon.

"Oh well," she is sure she is blushing. "You're keeping me distracted now."

"Is that so?"

She kisses him, and he leaves his mug on the counter to better hug her.

"Actually," she makes up her mind quickly, and looks at him, without taking her hands off his chest. "Sometimes it was… just an excuse. To stay at the coffee house. With you."

He didn't expect that, that's pretty obvious.

"Really? Since when?"

She bites her lip, self-conscious. "Oh, I don't know. Sometimes. More often recently."

He doesn't say anything else, but kisses her and she feels light, at ease.

Only the weekends are a problem. Those two days seem to drag, and even though she enjoys being with Jonah and planning excursions for the both of them, the fact that she and John don't meet seems to cover it all with a dull air. She feels guilty for feeling this way, but there is no shaking off the sadness when it's Friday afternoon and he leaves after a lingering kiss.

She knows she can ask him over; they can have lunch together, with Jonah, or take him somewhere. She is scared, though. Very much so. How long could this, her being with John, last? How is she going to explain it to Jonah? He is almost three now, and understands a great deal of things. And above it all, even though she is very happy, there is the fear of _it_ happening again.

John never talks about any of this. He never offers to accompany her to pick up Jonah, even though he asks about him frequently and listens when she tells even the silliest things about his son. He cares, she knows, and she knows he cares so much he's ready to wait, to give her space. Which makes her decision to keep them apart harder.

Maybe they could plan something, an excursion, or maybe just a visit to the park. Maybe they could meet there, and he could just introduce him as a friend. She doesn't need to make a big deal out of it. But the days pass and she doesn't make her mind.

One Monday morning they are lying in bed. This time they barely spoke when he arrived, eager as they both were after the two days' separation. Hands and mouths met, and bodies followed right after; there would be time for talking later. Only, right when their breathing is slowing down, her mobile rings.

She takes her time standing up, her body aches a little in all the right places and she was so comfortable lying on John's chest.

"You're going to miss that call," he says from the bed, and she sticks her tongue out at him while following the sound to her bag, lying beside the door. It doesn't ring anymore when she finally finds it. 1 missed call. Jonah's nursery.

"Oh fuck," she whispers.

"What is it?" John sits up straight.

"Jonah," she is already dialling. "Hello! I'm Anna Smith, Jonah's mu-"

"Hello, Anna," she recognises the friendly voice of the nursery's secretary. Only, she doesn't really sound as cheery as usual. "I'm glad we found you. Jonah's had a little accident."

Blood seems to freeze inside her veins.

"What? What happened?"

"One of the older kids pushed him, and he hit the back of his head-"

"What?"

She barely registers John standing up and approaching her.

"He's all right, but he's still bleeding and we think it would be better if you pick him up. Maybe take him to see a doctor?"

"Of course, yes, I'll be there in a moment."

She can't think straight. _He's still bleeding_. How much? For how long?

"Anna? What happened?" John is right next to her.

"Jonah's hurt, they say he's bleeding. I- I have to go, and pick him up."

John's already grabbing their clothes from the floor. "All right, get dressed."

He looks worried, but calm, and it's just what she needs to do the simple task of getting ready, while terrible images fill her mind. She's trembling, and so very scared.

"Is he still at the nursery? Have they taken him to the hospital?"

"What? No, he's still there. But they say he should see a doctor."

"Of course. Did they tell you where is he hurt?"

"The back of his head."

"Fuck." He hands her blouse, and she takes it with shaky hands. "We'll be there in a moment, don't worry. Do you want me to drive?"

She nods, automatically, and he grabs her bag from the floor and starts rummaging until he takes her keychain out. Only when they are inside the car she calms down enough to realise what's happening. John is coming with her. No. He's actually taking her. Taking care of her. She doesn't have to do it alone.

The fact that Jonah is about to meet John again stops to be a problem.

"You need to tell me where," John says, as he starts the engine and adjust the driver's seat, too small for his body.

"What? Yeah, right."

He squeezes her hand. "It's going to be all right, Anna."

She looks at him, and he gives her a reassuring smile. She takes a much needed deep breath and tries to smile, too.

"Two blocks ahead and then to the right."

It takes them less than ten minutes to reach their destination, and she almost jumps out of the car, without so much as a word to John. Inside, Jonah sits in the office, one of the caretakers is pressing a handkerchief to his head and Anna wants to cry when she sees it has big red stains.

"Hi, Mum!" Jonah smiles. "I had an athident!"

She has to smile at him. At least he doesn't look especially distressed.

"He seems to be all right," Louisa, the caretaker says. "In good spirits, too. After the fall it took him a moment to open his eyes, and another one to start crying. That's what got us worried."

Anna nods. "Does it hurt, honey?" she crouches in front of him and takes his hands.

"Not any more. If I press it, yes." And he does precisely that with his fingers. "See? Ouch!"

"Don't do that!" both Anna and Louisa say, and Jonah smiles impishly.

"We're going to see a doctor, all right?"

"Why?"

"Because. I'll explain in the car,"

Louisa takes the handkerchief off the wound. Under the mass of hair, Jonah's skin looks swollen, and there is a large scratch, but it doesn't bleed.

"See you tomorrow, Jonah," Louisa says, and Anna thinks it's a good sign.

"Bye!" He grabs her hand and both head outside.

Only then, Anna remembers that John is waiting for them. He's standing next to her car, hands in his pockets. When he sees them, he smiles, but she can see in his eyes he's worried.

"Who's him, Mum?" Jonah asks.

"He's John. He's a friend of mine."

"Is he coming with us?"

"Yes."

They cross the street and John opens the door for them. "Hello, Jonah."

The boy grins and points to the back of his head. "I have a wound."

"So I see."

Anna waits while Jonah climbs onto his chair, and feels John gently squeezing her hand, before going around to the driver's seat.

The A&E is almost empty and they don't have to wait long until a nurse shows them to a stretcher and closes curtains around them. Jonah hasn't stop talking since they left the nursery and even though she's exhausted of following his train of thought, Anna is also relieved.

They didn't allow John inside, but he said he would wait for them. She just nodded. She wanted to thank him, but she didn't know exactly how and when, and everything was just happening too fast.

* * *

Almost two hours have passed and John is a little edgy. After the first hour, Anna texted that the doctor wanted to run some tests and they were waiting. After that, nothing, and he doesn't want to bother her in case they are busy.

Finally the double doors open and Anna and Jonah exit the A&E. He searches her eyes. She looks tired, but calm.

"Everything all right?" he asks.

"They gave me a gigantic plaster, see?" Jonah informs him.

"The doctor says he's all right. They gave him stitches and he'll have a bruise for a couple of days, but other than that, there is no need to worry."

"That's great news."

"Mum, I'm hungry!"

John checks his watch. Its past 1. "Don't you have to go to class?" he asks Anna.

"No, it was just office hours. I've already called and said I'm not going."

"Mum! Im hun-gry!"

"Let's get something to eat, then," he says, before she can propose a different plan. One that wouldn't involve him.

"Good idea."

She doesn't even hesitate and he's thrilled.

Inside the car, he asks Jonah what does he likes to eat.

"Chips!" he says.

"Can we?" John mouths to Anna and she giggles and nods. Now that everything has passed, she looks relaxed. Relieved.

"All right," John says, looking at Jonah through the rear-view mirror. "What about hamburgers and chips?"

"Yeah!"

They go to a hamburger place and eat, Jonah telling him all about the doctor and the x-rays machine. Anna doesn't talk much, except for giving her son an indication or other. From time to time John looks at her, and she smiles, apparently lost in thought. When they get the check, she opens her bag, but he pays before she cans. She starts to protest, but he tells her it's his pleasure.

And it really is. Despite the circumstances, he is enjoying it all immensely. He loves the feel of it, the feel of being with them.

By the time they arrive to Anna's house, Jonah is almost asleep. At first he panics. Are people who hit their heads supposed to sleep? Anna tells him that it's all right. She's already cleared it with the doctor. They all come inside, and John wonders if she wants him to leave, even though she doesn't show it.

"Give me a moment, while I take this guy to take a nap," she whispers into his ear as they cross the threshold. Her breath sends waves of heat down his body, but this is most definitely not the right moment to dwell on that, so he just beams at her and nods.

It takes her a little longer than a moment. John is eager to be with her again, but he keeps on enjoying the simple fact that he's there, that he could prove her she can count on him.

After pacing the kitchen, he finally settles in the sofa of the living room and grabs an art book lying on the coffee table. He looks at the pictures without really taking them in. It's a distraction as good as any other.

When he hears her approaching, he stands up.

Anna doesn't give him a chance to say a thing, as her hands caress his neck and her lips find his. "Thank you," she mutters against his mouth."

"No. Thank you," he says. "For allowing me to be with you."

She kisses him again. "I love you."

His insides melt. He can believe it. Did he hear her right? Did she actually say-?

"I love you, too," he whispers, and stopping the kiss, he looks at her. Her eyes are bright, but she bites her lip in a gesture he has learnt to recognise as shyness.

"I didn't plan on saying it like that."

He chuckles. "I love that you said it. And, I love you."

Her smile broadens. "I love you."

Now he kisses her again, and even though he knows they won't go much further, for him it's the closest they have ever been.

* * *

She wakes up to his scent. Somehow they had settled on her couch and she remembers her leaning on his shoulder, and him massaging her temple. She can't have slept too long, otherwise Jonah would have woken her up.

John kisses her forehead. "You awake?"

"Yeah. I guess it was a little too much."

"It's ok. Jonah's still napping."

"I was a little too much for him, too."

He kisses her temple, and then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. "Do you want me to leave before he wakes up?"

She considers his question for a moment. The ideas and her self-imposed rules are there, clear and rational, but his body is there as well, warm and reassuring.

"Please, stay," she mutters, and he kisses her again.

He stays for the entire afternoon, and it's with a heavy heart that she sees him go after a long walk to the park with Jonah. He doesn't ask her to stay and she can't tell if he wants to give her space of if he's finally tired. She'd understand if that's the case.

Still…

After Jonah finally goes to bed she curls under the covers of her own and grabs her mobile.

 _Hi_ , she writes, and sends it fast, before overthinking it as she always does.

 _Hello, you_. John's reply comes at once and she's glad. _Is Jonah ok?_ He asks next.

 _Perfect, thank you._

 _I'm glad. You?_

Now she sighs. She's ok, yes, but she also feels empty inside. She misses him, and texts shining in the darkness of her room are not good enough.

 _Ok. Tired._

 _Of course you are. Why are you awake?_

She takes a deep breath. Should she say it?

 _I miss you_ , she finally writes, and her finger hovers over the send button for a moment, until she finally presses it.

 _I miss you, too._

It's so silly that they have to be apart. Such a waste of time, and space.

 _Would you come home to dinner tomorrow?_

 _I'd love to._

She wants to make it all clear, and she knows he will understand what she's implying.

 _It'll be a homely affair, I should warn you. Just the three of us._

 _That's my favourite kind_.

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you all, very very much!

[Fun-not-so-fun fact: the day after I wrote Jonah's "athident", I got a call from my own son's nursery saying he hit his head. Not as badly, but he's got a rather large bruise and it's perfectly ok right now. Weird, huh?]


	27. Chapter 27

_The first time he sent her flowers, it was long overdue._

 _Or so he learned from her incredulous look and the enthusiasm that lasted longer than the small bouquet of roses he sent to her office, after they learned that one of her articles would be published in a very serious academic journal._

 _She later told him how she had been at her office at the time, and how she got teased a little by two of her colleagues when the delivery boy appeared with the flowers._

 _She took them home, and he took pride at the way she would glance at them, sitting on the coffee table, every time she passed nearby._

 _Now he will pick roses again. White, small flowers that remind him of her. When he climbs on a taxi again, his smile is a little smug._


	28. Chapter 28

"Mum! I gotta pee!"

She tries to open her eyes, but she's just too tired, and her pillow feels very soft and warm. An upcoming deadline for an article has kept her awake longer than what's advisable, for many days.

"Mum?"

She groans and manages to lift an eyelid. It's still very dark.

"I'll take him," John, at her side, sounds much more awake than what she feels. Before she can consider the fact that Jonah might not want to go to the bathroom with him, she hears them both talking quietly and then somebody flushes the toilet.

A moment later John is back in bed and she hugs him, tightly.

"You're wonderful," she whispers.

"It's just the bathroom. Not exactly rocket science."

She hits him in the arm, but chortles. "Silly."

He looks at her smugly and she buries her head on the crook of his neck. She's still getting used to all this, and she's sure he is too. They never really talked about any of it. It just happened, a natural process that came about with time.

First, his staying for dinner. Then, going out to the park or to some place or other. She had to admit he was much better than her in planning excursions and fieldtrips that could keep Jonah entertained while giving them opportunities to hold hands and talk quietly into each other's ears.

One night it was raining heavily. Jonah was already asleep and Anna and John were curled up on her couch, watching a movie. At some point she dozed off, and she woke up with a little start when John moved at her side.

"I should probably go," he muttered, "so you can go to bed."

She didn't think it. The words just came out again, just like that first time she asked him to diner. "Stay."

"But you're tired. You should go to sleep."

"No. I mean," she sits up straight to look at him. "Stay for the night. Please."

He smiles. "All right. What about Jonah?"

"We'll tell him we had a sleepover."

He chuckled. "I can do that."

There never was any need. When Jonah saw John at breakfast the next morning he just greeted him, and it never occurred to him thinking that something was not right.

John wouldn't stay every night, though, but Anna loved it when he did.

* * *

 _Rejected_.

Rejected?

He reads the word again. And then the entire sentence. _We are sorry to inform you that your latest manuscript has been rejected…_

How? Why? Wasn't it good enough? When sent it, he was convinced this one was one of his bests, if not the best. He and Anna have talked many times about it over dinner or in their spare time. She even made suggestions for the cover of the book, although she knew the editors would decide on that matter.

Rejected.

This cannot be. It must be a mistake.

John grabs his mobile and dials his editor.

"John," he says, and his usually booming voice sounds subdued.

"Charles. I just got a letter from your people-"

"Yeah. I was expecting your call," he sighs heavily.

"So… isn't there a mistake? Rejected? Did you get the right manuscript?"

"There's no mistake." He feels Charles shuffle at the other end of the line. Finally he speaks, and it's a hoarse whisper, as if he doesn't want to be overheard. "Listen, John. She came here."

"She? Who?"

"Your ex-wife. Vera."

Something heavy drops into John's stomach. "What? What was she doing-?"

"I have no idea," he is speaking very fast. "She spoke to the boss, and when she came out she seemed very pleased. Five minutes after that we get the order not to accept and publish anything from you."

"You what?"

"I tried to reason with Carlisle. I swear. I told him this one is the real deal, and that we've been working with you for ages. Honestly, I don't know what did she told him, but whatever it was, it worked."

"When was this?"

"Months ago. I'm guessing right after your divorce was over."

"What?" John feels numb. Cold inside. "And why didn't you call me then?"

Charles clears his throat, uncomfortable. "I honestly thought all the fuss would be over by the time you'd send the manuscript, and that you'd be able to work better without this looming over your head. And when it came, I'd actually approved it. And then Carlisle called me in and reminded me you were not going to get published by the company. Nobody in this company will accept anything written by you."

Now he's speechless.

"I'm sorry, John," Charles adds, and after a moment of silence, he hangs up.

John stares out the window, the phone still clutched in his hand. His whole life writing for one publishing company. The one that had accepted his first novel after so many attempts and rejections. Now… now it was a dead end. His work as a critic wouldn't cover for his expenses, and what guarantee there was that Vera won't go to the newspaper and do with his other boss whatever she did with the owners of the publishing company? What if she already talked to other publishing houses?

His hand in a fist, he hits the kitchen table.

He is jobless. A lonely, sad, jobless excuse of a writer, not good enough that his publisher would put up a fight for him.

He has savings, of course, but how long would they last? Even if he'd sold the flat and looked for a smaller one? Even if he moved in with Anna?

Anna.

How could he tell her this? How is he going to explain that his career is finished? That he is ruined? That he's too old to start a new career, even if he wanted to?

There is nothing left for him.

He opens one of the drawers, the one that's always stuck. The little box is hidden behind old plastic cutlery they never use, on the rare occasions they are here instead of her place.

The ring is not grand, a single diamond sitting on a gold band, but he thought it was beautiful when he chose it, just last week. He knew then it would take him months to pay for it, but he didn't care. The idea of getting to share his life with Anna and Jonah made it all worth it.

But now what life is there for him?

Vera. He didn't get rid of her, not really.

Would she come back to his life like this, in the least expected moment? Like a time bomb ready to burst? How much could she keep on contaminating? His life, his career.

What career?

That joke of a career of a man who has published a handful of mediocre novels.

He needs fresh air. With a decisive gesture John closes the box and tosses it carelessly inside the drawer. He puts on a jacket and goes out, closing the door with a loud bang.

The air is warm and he feels strangely alone, despite the streets being busy with people. He walks a couple of blocks but it doesn't seem to help. He wants to pretend that letter never came. He wants to be happy as he has been since he bought the ring, planning on how to ask the question, and imagining the answer. Now the only thing left to plan was to return it, and hoping the jeweler would accept it.

As if she'd rejected him, really.

John keeps on walking, and he doesn't pay attention to his surroundings, buried deep on his own thoughts that seem to run in circles. He only looks up when noise and the smell catch his attention.

It's a small bar. He's been here before, more than once, but such a long time ago. Another life, really.

John doesn't carry the chip on his pocket anymore. He stopped when he started spending some nights at Anna's, after forgetting it once on her nightstand. When they gave him the 18 months chip, he just showed it to her and left it lying around in his flat.

Maybe he needs it now, to remind him.

Of what?

The smell is appealing, of course. Whiskey? Gin, maybe? He misses it. But he's a different person. And yet, he could do with a drink right now. How good it was to forget, to wash away the bad flavours of life.

John shakes his head and starts walking in the opposite direction, fast. No, he doesn't need it now. He can do this without it.

Even if he doesn't have a job anymore. Even if his career is ruined. Even if he can't even begin to imagine how this failure of his will affect Anna, will affect them.

He takes out his mobile. He knows he cannot call her, he wouldn't know what to say, and she would realise something was wrong. Besides, she was at work. This was something that needed to be talked in person, there was no need to worry her right now.

If he had it his way, she'd never knew. Sadly, that's impossible.

He scrolls down. Robert. He is currently in America, but he can't call him anyway. Even if he won't be able to meet with him and take him away from bars or the like, he could say something. It's worth the try. John dials. Nothing. He checks the time. Maybe he's asleep. Just in case, he dials again. Nothing.

Could he call somebody from the AA?

No, that idea is just ridiculous. He's not a risk anymore, it's been almost two years!

He is a different person. Hs is sure of it.

And, as such, he can control it. He could just order a glass of whiskey, on the rocks, and drink it. Calmly. Enjoying how it tastes, even.

The thought makes him dizzy. Eager. He can't barely remember the flavour of a good whiskey, but he misses it.

This won't be about drinking himself silly. Just one glass. Two, maybe.

His walking becomes more purposeful. He doesn't really know this part of the neighbourhood. How much time has passed since he left his flat? How far is he? Still, there are plenty of bars everywhere, John is sure he will find one.

It's a supermarket the first thing he sees, though, and he almost runs inside.

The aisle he's looking for seems to call him with a golden glow. Those aligned bottles, so familiar.

He takes one. Just one. He needs far less than that, really.

Without losing more time, he pays for it, and clutching the bag, almost as if he were hugging the bottle, he hails a taxi to go back to his flat.

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you all very very much! Sorry for the angst!


	29. Chapter 29

_She is going to be early. It's supposed to be the other way around. He's the one who should get there first, but she simply doesn't have anything else to do, and her stomach feels uncomfortable with all those butterflies dancing inside._

 _Anna wishes the taxi would go slower, so she could just look through the window at everything and nothing at the same time. The driver ignores her suggestion of just taking it easy and speeds along the roads. Which does nothing to improve her nerves._

 _If she is honest with herself, she just wants the morning to pass. She wants to see herself at the other side of it all, with everything settled and that queasy feeling and the trembling legs just a memory._

 _Of course it's not the moment what counts, but what it really means. But strangely enough, she is not really scared about the future anymore. They are a team, she and John, and stronger because of that. At least, most of the time._


	30. Chapter 30

The laundry basket is about to get out of control. Again, if she has to be honest. These days Jonah seems to be using twice the clothes she does, Anna thinks as she tosses two t-shirts into the washing machine.

Her hand grabs more blue things. A pair of jeans of hers, socks, Johns's jacket. Sometimes he takes his laundry to his place, but she has insisted that he could leave it, too. That has added to the load, of course, but she doesn't mind. On the contrary. These small everyday tasks, the gestures, how they have breakfast together, or how she could see him and Jonah on the couch, watching cartoons, all of it warms her heart in a way she never thought possible.

Distractedly, she goes through her pockets. A receipt, a used kleenex, a 50p coin. And then John's. Another crumpled receipt. She is about to toss it to the trash, when one word seems to call her attention.

Mechanically, she smoothes the piece of paper, not even questioning if she should or not.

 _Walker red label_

She reads it twice. And then another time. And then another.

The words are suddenly blurred. This cannot be.

She looks at the heading. It's a regular supermarket. And just the one product. A bottle of _Walker red label_ , and there is no need of a genius to figure out what that means.

It's still five thirty. John said he was busy and that he would be there for dinner.

Busy with what? At the time she assumed it was just his writing. It is easier for him to focus when he's at his flat, alone. But now…

It's been many days. A week, perhaps? She checks her phone for a message. There it is, eight days ago.

 _I'm so sorry, but I got into this thing and won't be able to come over. Say Jonah I said hi. Love you. xx_

But he couldn't have, could he?

She checks the date on the receipt. Eight days ago.

But she has seen him since! He's slept at her house, not just once. And he looked perfectly normal. Sober.

But he also has been just a tad distant. Going to his flat more frequently. Saying he was busy. Giving vague answers.

How couldn't she have noticed it?

A wave of panic engulfs her. Five and thirty-four. There is time, but not much.

Almost at a run she goes to her closet and fishes a bag from its depths. Just the . Toothbrushes. Whatever. But fast, very fast.

"Jonah!" she calls, and she hers the fear in her own voice.

XXXX

He is tired, but finally optimistic. It has taken him a week. An excruciatingly long week of writing, sending countless emails, calling on people, walking, but he finally has the solution he needs, and he couldn't wait to share it with Anna. The whole story, dirty as it is. She deserves nothing but the truth from him.

He opens the door with his key. He has been using it for a while, now, but it still makes him happy the fact that he has earned the right to have a key to her apartment.

The place is strangely quiet, though. Just some light coming from the sitting room. Maybe they are watching something? It's too quiet for that, though. Yes, the room is empty; the rest of the flat, dark.

John checks his phone. Maybe a missed call? Nothing.

Without really thinking, he goes into the kitchen and starts the boiler for a cup of tea. Maybe they run out of something and Anna went with Jonah to the market. Strange, though, she could have called him and asked him to bring whatever it was.

Maybe he has emphasised too much on the fact that he is busy and she didn't want to disturb him.

He sighs, a little disappointed, and just to have something to do, he starts putting the dishes of the dishwasher on their proper places. When the water is ready, he sits on the table, the mug of strong tea clutched in his hand.

It's almost eight. Jonah should have had his dinner by now.

Perhaps she wasn't sure he would come tonight, and she and Jonah went to have something to eat? On a weekday? No, that was not right.

Still, he checked his latest messages.

 _I'll be there at seven, maybe a little later._ He wrote.

 _We'll wait for you_ , was her answer, followed by a smiley face.

No, there was no mistake.

Something must have happened.

He dials her number. Nothing. It keeps on ringing until voicemail kicks in.

Maybe something happened to her.

Now he's scared. If something happened to Jonah, she would've called him, wouldn't she? But what if something happened to her?

Dialling again, he walks around the house, turning on the lights in every room. He doesn't know what he's looking for. A note? Her mobile, forgotten on her bed? Anna herself, badly hurt?

Nothing.

The house is empty.

He calls again. How many times has it already been? Five? Six?

"Anna, hi, it's me. Are you all right? Please, call me."

And for good measure, he texts her the same message. One little gray check. Two. They never turn blue, though, and that scares him even more.

Jonah's room doesn't seem to have answers, either. It's a little untidy, but that's usual. Cars, Lego bricks, stuffed animals.

He goes back to Anna's room. It all looks the same. Bed. A bag on a chair. Two books on her nightstand. A picture of Jonah. An open drawer. Mechanically, he motions to close it.

John stops. It's almost empty. Clothes in disarray.

He opens the next drawer. Almost empty.

He freezes. Ice seem to run down his spine. With three long strides he is in the bathroom. No toothbrush, no robe. This time he goes to Jonah's room. Now he knows what to look for. His pajamas are missing, too. And so is his teddy bear.

Why?

He dials again, although he knows she won't answer.

 _Anna, please, where are you?_ , he texts.

He knows the answer. Or he thinks he does. Jane. If Anna is not there, he is sure she knows where she is. But then, the question burns his brain once and again. Why? Why did she leave?

He scrolls down his phone and that's when he realises he doesn't have Jane's number. He doesn't know where she lives either. When Jonah has stayed there, it has always been Anna, and just Anna the one picking him up. He has seen Jane, plenty of times really, but never in her house.

He just doesn't know how to reach her. Where to call. Where to go.

He sits heavily on the bed. Has Anna planned all this all along? Having Jane as her safety net just in case… Just in case what? The only possible scenario he can think of for her to go would be if he'd gotten drunk again. Which he hasn't.

He's been close, oh so close, but he didn't even open the bottle.

What if she knew? How could she find out about that small moment of weakness? And if so, why didn't she say a thing days ago, when it happened?

He browses through his mobile again, although he knows the number wouldn't appear just because he wants it to. Who to call?

The nursery, maybe? They could have Jane's number listed as an emergency contact. But why would they give him the number, not to mention that at this time at night there won't be anybody there to answer the phone.

He could go the next morning. Wait for them at the door.

No.

He shakes his head.

He can't stalk them like that. He won't. He just needs to talk to her.

What was Jane's last name? It was something with an M.

He opens the browser now, and tries different possibilities until the real last name finally comes to his mind. There are just two 'Jane Moorsum' listed, both land lines.

The first one is an elderly woman and he apologies profusely for disturbing her.

The second one…

"Hello."

XXXX

Anna shakes her head. "Don't pick it up!" But it's too late. Jane's already put the receiver to her ear.

"Hello… Yes… Yes, I know who you are."

Panic again, tasting bitter in her mouth. Jane just nods at her and she knows what it means. John has figured out where they are. She knew it wouldn't take him very long. He's a smart man. But this was too fast and she is not ready.

"I am sorry, I can't give you that information."

Anna has to admire how calm Jane sounds.

"Listen, I don't know what are you talking about John, but I can't help you find Anna."

Suddenly Jane presses the speaker button and John's voice seem to fill the air.

"- can't help me or won't help me?" he is saying. Anna stands up fast and closes the living room door. Jonah is playing with Freddie, and she doesn't want him to give them away.

"Think whatever you like." Jane says.

John breathes heavily at the other side of the line.

"She thinks I've been drinking, doesn't she?" he asks.

Anna nods, and then shakes her head at Jane.

"Well, have you?"

"No, I haven't. I haven't touched a single drop of alcohol for almost two years."

Anna sighs, and buries her head in her hands. She wants to believe him. She wants to, so badly.

Jane doesn't speak, and after a moment, John speaks again, and this time his voice quivers.

It hurts almost as the discovery of the receipt had.

"Listen, Jane. That other time… I admitted it. Afterwards, when I was sober enough, I took the blame and I went away."

"And then you contacted her back," Jane says, flatly.

"I did, but… I wasn't… if she wouldn't have answered that time, I would never have tried to contact her again. I swear."

"What does that have to do with this?"

"So many things have happened in the meantime. I'd never risk it. But… listen… tell her that I'll go, all right? Maybe she's listening? Maybe she's there?"

He waits for a moment, but not Jane, nor Anna make a sound.

"Listen, Jane, please. Tell her that I'll go away if she wants me to. I'll do it, even if it breaks my heart. But please, tell her to meet me first. She can chose where. A public place, wherever. Whenever. But if she wants me to leave, I need her to tell me that in person."

His voice breaks again, and Anna almost picks up the phone.

"All right," Jane says, and she looks at her friend in panic, shaking her head. She wants to, but she doesn't. Not ever. "If I happen to see her, I'll tell her you want to meet. On one condition."

"What?" John almost yells.

"Don't try to contact her until then."

"I… what?" He sounds confused.

"I will tell her that you want to meet. And I will talk to her into answer you if she doesn't want to. But until then, you should stop trying to contact her. She is all right, that's as much as I can tell you."

"And Jonah…?"

"Jonah is all right to. So, there you have it. Don't contact her."

"She could take ages."

"She won't. Give her a couple of days."

John sighs heavily. "All right. All right. I don't have much of a choice, anyway."

Jane's mouth twitches, and Anna feels a little betrayed.

"All right. Good evening."

"Bye. And Jane…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. If you're there for her and Jonah. Thank you, so much."

Jane looks blankly at the phone, but a moment later there is a _click_ on the other side.

"He's telling the truth, you know?" Jane states, looking at her.

Anna frowns. "How can you tell?"

Jane sighs, and takes a sit next to Anna on the couch.

"I was the one who told you to be careful. Not to risk opening your heart to him again, remember? And I swear I could've killed him with my bare hands ten minutes ago. But that," she points at the phone. "That's a desperate man, so very in love with you."

Anna sighs, tears now running down her cheeks. She has cried a lot. On the way to Jane's making her best efforts to hide it from Jonah, sitting on the back, and happy that they would be going to Jane's for a sleepover. Then, the moment Jonah left with Freddie, she wouldn't hold back. At first jane just hug her, but eventually Anna had to tell him about the receipt, about John being absent lately, about her leaving for good. Not just John, but everything, Jane included, to start a new life somewhere else.

"Listen, honey," Jane hugs Anna with one arm. "I think you should listen. Maybe… maybe that bottle wasn't for him."

"He's not allowed to even buy it. Ha can't be near the thing, even if it's for a present."

"Maybe the receipt is not his."

"In his pocket?"

Jane sighs. "Yeah, unlikely. But you have to face him. Ask him. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself otherwise."

"It will hurt."

"If you leave him, it will. But it will hurt nonetheless."

"What if I can't tell he's lying? What if I believe him and he did drink that time?"

Jane sighs. "That's a possibility, of course. But you heard him. I don't think he'd lie. He's smart. He wouldn't have left that receipt lying around for you to find. And you'd notice if he'd done it, I'm sure of that."

Anna shudders. She is scared.

"You're strong Anna. More than you realise."

"I'm not. Here I am, suffering because of a drunken bastard, Just like I promise I would never do."

"And why would that make you any less strong?"

"Since when are you siding with him?" she is exasperated now.

"Oh, honey, I am not! I'm siding with you! I know he's the one who makes you happy, and I very much doubt you'll find somebody like him again."


	31. Chapter 31

_He arrives first, and suddenly he feels nervous. An uncomfortable sensation in the pitch of his stomach. His palms feel warm and sweaty, and he adjusts is hold on the small bouquet of flowers._

 _Deep breaths._

 _She'll be here, he tells himself, once and again, pacing the pavement in front of the building._

 _He could call her, of course. Ask her how much longer would it be. But it's still half an hour too early, she would be worried if he was to call too early. Besides, they have a deal._

 _Maybe he could call Jane. She would laugh at him probably. And he deserves it. Probably._

 _She'll be here._

 _She'll be here._

 _He needs her to be here._


	32. Chapter 32

The scent of the coffee is intense, and he can't help taking a deep breath of it. It seems to fill not just his senses, but maybe also his soul. A friendly scent, a friendly harbour, almost.

John is very early, but he couldn't stay put. After talking to Jane, he considered going to his own flat, to remove himself from her space. He couldn't though, and that night he slept in her bed, feeling cold in a place too big and almost strange without her. At five the next morning he was already up.

He wasn't very thorough picking up the things he had left all around the apartment over the months. Maybe he wanted an excuse to come back afterwards and pick them up. Maybe he was still hopeful. He was, of course he was, and he despised himself for that.

The thought of having another drink never came to his mind.

Only now, while ordering a black coffee, he realises it. It is a triumph, but he can barely see it that way.

Maybe this triumph came too late.

Anna's call came at nine, and in his eagerness to pick up the mobile, he almost dropped it.

"Anna?"

"All right." Her voice sounded distant, but it didn't escape to him that she had been crying. "I'll meet with you. Today at eleven."

"Where?"

"The coffee house."

John could not tell if her choice had come out of convenience or if there was another meaning for it. To finish it all where it had all started? To give them a new start? A continuation? There is that hope again, and he needs to control it.

He doesn't sit in their usual table. The early morning buzz is over and he can choose. This time he picks a table as far away from the barista as possible. He can't look at the door from here, and maybe that's for the best. Instead he tries to focus just on the coffee, the smell, the flavour.

That's what they keep on saying at his AA meetings. To focus on the present. To be there. A part of him has always thought it's a load of bollocks, really. Until now.

There is the smallest satisfaction in the act. Impossible really, but the fact was that it was giving him some peace.

When the bells hanging from the door sound, at precisely eleven, he knows it's her without having to turn around, and surely enough, she stands in front of him a moment later.

"Hi, John," she says.

"Hello, Anna." He takes in her appearance. It's been just hours since he saw her last, but it feels like ages. Her eyes are puffy, but other than that, she looks completely composed. "Would you-?"

She sits, before he can offer her anything.

"Ten minutes," she says. "You have ten minutes."

He sighs. This was to be expected.

"My last manuscript was rejected."

"What?" Anna opens her eyes. Just like him, she wasn't really expecting that.

"I knew about that over a week ago. And I knew the reason. There was nothing wrong with it. My editor was even willing to approve it. Only, my ex-wife blackmailed the owner of the publishing house somehow, and they decided not to work with me anymore." She opens her mouth, but he carries on before she can interrupt him. Ten minutes are not much. "After learning all this from my editor I was desperate."

"You could've call-" she finally says.

"I know I could have called you. I should've. But then, I didn't want you to think I am a failure."

"I wouldn't-"

"I was desperate," he says simply. "So I went out, wandered for a long while. And then I wanted a drink. I called Robert, but he was abroad. And I didn't want to call you and worry you. So I walked and walked, and then there was this supermarket, and it was so very easy. To go inside and just buy a bottle of whiskey. I was going to go home and drink it there. Just one glass."

"It's never just one glass," she snaps.

"Oh, I know that. But I know that now. Sober. Calm. You can't- it's very difficult to understand what happens inside my mind in those moments. All reason goes away."

"So you drank it," her shoulders drop, but she is still calm.

"I didn't. I told Jane I didn't drink and it's the truth." John grabs the cup in front of him, his knuckles white. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "I made it to my flat, and then it all came back to me. How stupid it all was. So I went back out with the bottle and I crashed it on a container nearby. Everything went away. And afterwards I took a shower. I couldn't even stand the smell near me."

She sighs. "I want to believe you."

"Do. Believe me."

"But then what about your disappearances? You started going to your flat more often. You were always busy…"

Of course she'd notice.

"I was looking for a new publishing house. And a job."

"You… what?"

There is a small satisfaction at seeing her being this surprised.

"I wanted to tell you everything, but I wanted to have a solution for it all as well. I didn't want you to worry. Or, worse, to pity me."

"I wouldn't have, are you mental?" she is outraged. "I would've helped you!"

"I know you would. But I needed to figure it out on my own."

"That's just stupid."

"Maybe."

"It is!" She insists. "We're a team! This sort of things is supposed to be solved between the two of us! Whatever happens, whatever there was, it was for us to face it together."

"Yeah…" he says feebly, but he registered the fact that she is still speaking in the present. That she might still be considering them as a team, even now.

She crosses her arms and arches an eyebrow. "So, did you? Solve it?"

"I did. Found myself a new publishing house. And, if everything works out, I might even get a job. A teaching position."

"A- A what?"

"I can't have you worried about me being able to pay for my bills at the end of the month. I need some stability. Or so I thought. Because, you see," he can't keep being this cold and rational. Not if he wants to convince her. "I was not just thinking about me, but about you and Jonah, too."

"I can see for the both of us."

"I know… I know you can. But then… you don't see it, do you?"

"See what?"

Now he is exasperated. For him it's all so very obvious. Logical, even.

"I want to marry you, Anna. I want us to be a family. And I know you're more than capable of making a life for yourself and Jonah, I know you don't need me. But still, I want you to count on me."

Now she's speechless. Slowly, she takes a deep breath.

"I…" she starts, and he waits, but she doesn't say a thing.

"Christ, Anna. I love you. I love Jonah. I want you to marry me, I was ready to propose!"

She still doesn't say a thing, her eyes fixed on his.

"I even have a ring." He wasn't planning on saying it, but he wants her to react. He needs her to.

"You… when did you get it?"

"Ironically enough, days before I got the rejection letter. And then I was going to return it. At the end I decided to return it if more than two weeks passed without me getting a job."

Anna blinks.

"So, you still have it."

John nods, and looks back at his cup of coffee. He wants to know what's she thinking, but he doesn't dare to look up and see rejection in her features. He just can't.

For a long moment nobody speaks. He knows his ten minutes are over, but apparently Anna has forgotten.

"Am I a fool?" she finally says, and he voice sounds weak.

He looks up, he eyes are full of unshed tears.

"I don't think you are," he says.

"Because, the truth is, I love you. So much that I am willing to live with this fear."

"I don't want you to live with fear-"

"Well…"

He doesn't know what to say, and looks around for inspiration. And then he feels, her warm hand on his. He looks up. Anna has even managed a little smile.

"You're so stupid, John Bates."

He sighs. "I know I am."

This time her smile broadens, and he dares to smile a little as well.

"Let's go home, alright?" she says, simply.

He beams. "Really?"

"Yeah."

He stands up, her hand still on his, and both exit the coffee shop.


End file.
